


heck

by epistaxiophilia



Series: found under the couch [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Dismemberment, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Gore, M/M, Other, all of the cast just all of them, blind!jack, implied mchanzo, its starts off tame and spirals violently into all those tags up there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2018-07-24 20:33:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 86,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7522171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epistaxiophilia/pseuds/epistaxiophilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>overwatch is gaining steam under the authority that they take focus into apprehending a list of enhanced humans that are 'terrorizing' the globe under the wake of its fall. they are free to use those they capture however they feel. (wait that came out too sexually(ordidit).)</p><p>very reaper-centric fic, but with the entire cast, eventually. d.va and reaper are best friends, morrison takes forever to show up. check out 'mistakes were made' for the mchanzo part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. reaper and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> reaper has had many bad days, but no one could ever warn him of, the very worst day, that would be a train wreck for the rest of his life. y'know. even more of a trainwreck then life already was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't written a fic in three years but i do a lot of rp. it tends me leave me poor in the category of describing the location, i'm sure i'll get better over time. i dont use AO3 for anything so i'm still learning the interface and the tag system. this is vaguely un-beta'd but my sisters reads over parts that i'm like 'why' about and fixed it and also every couple of weeks i come back and rewrite parts of chapters so this is just going to be a masterful trainwreck. ;0)

  Overwatch. A growing thorn in his side; one that had /supposed/ to disappear long ago- along with the loss of its bases and its leaders. A title thought lost and rotting in his mouth. In the past weeks since Talon's 'first' assault on the old, presumed to be but not abandoned watchpoint in Gibraltar, the success of each new attack dwindled in percent until now, where it reaches new lows in single digits. Reaper tells himself he shouldn't be awfully surprised that the remnants left over from the great, lumbering beast Overwatch had once been were still lingering- but it was the fact it was /gaining traction/ after his poking into the dying machine that made each and every failure afterwards an exhausting endeavour. His gross under estimation of the primate that called to his brethren, like his over social species would, cost the wraith too many weeks easy rest since then.

  Why did he not even realize that Winston would? Well, it /wouldn't/ have happened if they had just /killed him/ when they had the damn chance. A single man, a single /monkey, animal/, defeating him and an entire Talon brigade. No one left there would ever hear the end of it, from the wraith's own tongue to the Talon superiors barking and reprimanding. How years of Talon's unrivaled reign made them soft and unready for real confrontation.

  He hisses and curses under his breath as the Talon transport migrates him and his, -cough-, 'very well trained and skilled team' to Reaper's fifth, the FIFTH attempt at 'grabbing territory'. A common battleground for streetfights and malcontents- but today the long past familiar streets would be filled with the bitter souls of /his/ damned tonight, rest assured. Reaper lamented that the higher-ups deemed it would be a better idea to separate him and Widowmaker on this current mission; like splitting up their best 'help' would provide a better advantage, /somehow/. Ever since the museum, which was the closest by far since Gibraltar to success he might add, they wildly shifted tactics to attempt finding an advantage. Splitting up the troops to spread the thin recovering enemy numbers. He wouldn't spare his limited breath to argue, as to them they were all simple lackeys as the rest of the fodder around him was. It didn't matter. He was grasping at straws for reasons he sat and listened to the Talon AI spill out the directives and direction- they weren't /his orders/, or he would never admit to that. He knew /his/ orders. Find Overwatch agents. Kill Overwatch agents. Use Overwatch to lure out others. Rinse and repeat until Reaper superiority.

  Clawed digits rapped mercilessly against the frame of the airship; much to the growing nervousness of his 'comrades'. It didn't take an genius to notice when the wraith shifter was irritable, things went poorer for the less supernaturally inclined. Admittedly that included whomever they attacked, but the average Talon combatant was finding it harder to calmly accept the risk. Quiet whispers of 'why couldn't we get shifted with the sniper? She's at least a LITTLE sane'. From what he heard over the comms, her and her much smaller band of soldiers were getting moderate to great success. It uneased his stomach- it most definitely meaning his time soon would be going on much less smoothly. Unseen eyes glance across the unsure and wavering crew of his, expression contorting beneath his mask.

_-When you fail, I'll eat you first, cowards.-_

\--

  There's more of them again. Since the monkey sent out his signal, the call that should be rightly dead in the water, every interaction with himself and Overwatch now. One more enemy, two, too many, all souls rightly for his consumption. Here now, as he turns a corner in a fogged rush, is an adversary high on his list of people he never wanted to come face to face with again. The night was getting old, all innocent interlopers tucked neatly into hiding places afar from the gunfire and boots, leaving the decorated streets ripe for their little escapade. They weren't being terrible 'sneaky' tonight, he noted, but rode on the coat tails of Talon's skilled hand in technological subterfuge. No cameras would witness this, only the game of telephone that was gossip and word of mouth from the spare few that remained. Between a damaged wooden cart and a stairwell, the aging knight and hammer stand in his way. His shield dissipes as a rolling laugh breaks the silence when the wraith settles into existence.

  All he wanted now was to shout, 'For fucks sakes, aren't you 60 now? Aren't you a little too old for this?"- but he caught his tongue... And the aforementioned behemoth 'caught' his entirety, physically. From dematerializing so soon before, and stuck from the shock in the shadow of the armor before him- and god, how did he /not/ expect him to charge forward-, Reaper finds the ground below his feet rapidly shifting from under him. His brain is feeling fried from all this, stressed out and desperately grasping for any semblance of normality. Nothing was coming to mind. There wasn't enough fingers on his hand to count how many of these damned parasites the wraith feels he accidentally summoned from their graves tonight, and the feeling only grows stronger and spills over tonight. Reinhardt would be his last, painful straw.

_-You're supposed to be killing people, not rising their old corpses from the dead.-_

  It's... its almost like they were specifically here for him. Every corner. Listening over the comms, not a single other team or man was having as much trouble as he was after being separated from his brigade by a nosey time-traveler. Maybe he was counting Tracer more then once, as the girl made a habit out of being everywhere. He felt a bit now... like he was being herded- it came to him, the word /herded/, like an animal- but it came to him in time with the impact of his old, armored 'friend', his own semi permeable body, and a massive brick wall. If he had proper lungs to compress and wheeze he might be more winded or weak from the experience, but instead he takes the close quarters to lift the remaining shotgun in his left hand and fire the three remaining rounds into the soft shoulder joint of his suit. He remembers this thing well enough, an ancient relic of power to make an already huge man even more intimidating and powerful; though it feels a bit more solid and upgraded then it rightly /should/. As if Overwatch was truly preparing and posturing for a return. Like it wasn't god damned /illegal/ for them to be here, intruding on matters far beyond their control. That was a distinct change he took in between today and the weeks prior- preparedness. As if the underground weeds squirming between the Petras act suddenly were informed of some steam that would fuel the dying fire under Talon's palm. That fire under /his/ palm. Snuffed out years ago- but a growing coal beneath it was catching somethings, someones wind.

  He could feel it burning his hand now, as Reinhardt's arm grew limp under the strain of shotgun fire to its joint. Wrong arm, he subconsciously thinks, as the larger mans right still bares its- /fuck/ that's a lot bigger then he remembered close up- hammer of power. It jabs into the location his head was seconds ago, leaving a unsettling crater in the wall behind him. The armor is greeted with hasty fog instead of blood, however; Reaper finally collects himself enough to realize he didn't really want to have any crushed body parts today... However, this had been an assault of hours for the wraith, pressing weakness into his stamina. Reinhardt was the last of many who'd pinned him in corners all night, each attempting the same sort of game as this, but failing where the giant would be very, very adept. When he reformed, his assailant was already prepared; he felt his weight slammed into the wall again by a gauntlet dug right into his neck, followed closely by the entire armored weight compressing the, albeit unneeded, air from him once again. The ground shakes near his feet when the discarded hammer hits the floor, but the skull mask stays fast and staring into the helmet of his enemy.

_-You fool, I don't /need/ to breath, don't hold /me/ by your mortal standards.-_

  He hears Reinhardt speak, into his comm and not to the formless mass he grasped too mightily, but doesn't really catch the words./Winston/, he hears, a painfully familiar name, but he's too busy pulling in all his strength to give this elder the fight he deserves; and desires, if he remembers his old friends personality well enough.

  Reinhardt, while subconsciously looking for a challenge, is still startled when with a deep rumble of Reapers chest, he /pushes, successfully,/ against the armored fist and body that fought to flatten him against the building. As much he struggled to keep control of the wraith, it was not to be compared to the building rage and discomfort as the cogs turn in Reaper's head, against all the evidence of the night piling in his brain. All for him, all for Reaper. Talon was here to information gain under many 'well informed' tips that led them here, but he ponders back now to the occasional blips in his radio that, so far, there was nothing except the enemy agents popping up now and again to shoot pot shot rockets at their ranks to scatter them. You see, he was too busy being distracted by a near constant assault on /only his form/, that no one else seemed to share. He supposed he was too confused to the 'why' of the situation, but who wouldn't want to pick the strongest from your enemy and snuff them while you had the organized chance to do so, and wow and doesn't he just feel special. They couldn't even know he was going to show up to begin with... but, if you had the stats in your hands, percentage wise, it was very likely. He could hear the ape in his head explaining the math he could not ever care less about. Even though the percentages were , literally, crushing and chasing him at the moment. What a horrible staged facade he was taking part in. What kind of masterminding company would let such an atrocity take place on their soil.

  In the startled moment of the absolutely /desperate/ push that frees the ghost from Reinhardt's grasp with a violent motion; Reaper evaporates from the his assailant again, and slips beneath his lumbering arms. Now that the wraith realizes it all, he attempts to bark a recall command to his troops- but is greeted with the shrill cry of broken machinery in his ear and a static hum as it settles into nothingness. For fucks sake. The weight of his mistakes hit his chest much like a large armored knight would; but it's quickly replaced by a /unbridled rage/ as he speeds to shadowstep very much far away from this place. Or he would have, at least, if he hadn't been assaulted by electricity the moment the even thought about escape. _Fine, FINE. I can PLAY DIRTY. We're DOING THIS now._

  It shakes him back into solidity for a moment, seething as a mass of 'himself' and black, noxious fog. Winston. He should've listened a little better when Reinhardt spoke earlier, but. Everything was just so distracting today. The wraith turned to face his opponent, settling new weapons into his hands through the blistering pain of voltage; but he's faced with the monkey barreling /towards/ him, instead of away as what would be expected.

_-You aren't Reinhardt you idiot, you can't just expect to /wrestle/ me. I just STOPPED your stupid tank of a human being, what can you possibly expect to do to me!-_

  This. This is what.

  Winston uses the confusion and frenzy to his advantage, the mass of forming fog coming towards him for the challenge provided. It was a nerve wracking five seconds of extreme planning coming to fruition for him. He was aware that his armoured friend, though damaged, was right beside him to assist if the ghosty had any more plans than this panicked attack, but he had been studying. Reaper was very predictable, to him, at least. When their bodies meet, Winston grabs the man at his ankles with his feet, and pushes with his palms to flatten him on his back, discarding his weapon. It was harder to find legs in the mist then he expected, but he finds mass enough to gain the upper hand in balance- but dang that was chilly on the toes. He can /feel/ the shotgun blast compressing the armor on his chest, threatening to shred it and his flesh underneath, but it holds long enough he wrestles the hood off him, lifting up his head, and forces a collar around his neck with a rough clink of metal. When Reaper feels the choke, he stops dead in his thrashings for a few quiet moments of thought. For the simple satisfaction, the gorilla truly wishes he could see his expression under that flat faced mask.

  " What.... /WHAT/, Winston? WHAT?"

  The ape stands up from his pinning sit on the ghosts body, backing up and simply /waiting/. Reaper sees Reinhardt saddling up behind Winston, invisibly staring down at him with a weary hammer at the ready. Winston might look more startled at the almost casual use the Talon agent has over his name like that, but they're both too busy anxiously waiting for the success of his little... project. The gorilla isn't surprised at all when he raises his shotguns again, sitting up but still sat on the ground, aiming to just shoot the both of them in blind indignation; but instead he freezes with a startled grunt.

  He can't shoot. He can't move, to be completely honest, a sharp stab immobilizing him from his neck down. He immediately knows the exact source of his torment, but he can't move to shred the device from his person. It's his last desperate attempt before the weight of his failure can sink him that he struggles to permeate through the device and shadowstep away from his prone position on the floor- but he can't seem to fog away either. The sudden pain rolls through his body from the neck down in waves, releasing masses of mist and fog before his energy runs dry. It surprises the two watchers when he cries out, screams like it /burns/, and despite the paralyzing first affect of Winston's invention, it can't stop him from thrashing about for a moment while his form settles back into solidity.

  It's too late, you're too slow. When did you get so /slow/. It was such a far-fetched idea, that Overwatch, or anyone of that descent would get this far from what he helped /destroy/. Did they even know who he was- or was he just a loose wrench jammed in the gears of 'their' glory, /again/. If that was case, he would take great joy in breaking their bubble later; since he was apparently going to have to be down for this misadventure as it comes clomping heavy boots to his pained body.

  " Ach, I did not think it would hurt that much..?", the larger man speaks through Reapers spattering remaining consciousness, wheezing and scrapping at the floor face down. He almost sounds with pity, but the wraith won't accept it as such.

  " Uhh.. I didn't either, but... I guess it's fine for now. We have to go, we're running late. Talon has already moved back to regroup, but I don't think they realized what we're up too yet, so we need to use that to our advantage. Everyone else is waiting for us at the transport."

  " Just him today, hmn? I did not see the other ones.", its closer now, and he can feel himself being scooped up one of the two of them, he can't decide which. Probably the monkey, as he loosely remembered incapacitating the one arm of Reinhardt. He grasps into his current thoughts in attempt to stay conscious and listening- but hungry and tired, it grows impossible.

\--

  Reinhardt insists they bind him mercilessly, despite Winston assuring the group that he is quite well and sedated and controlled. It worked flawlessly, as I said it would. It was a shame no one else took the invite he had shared, but one was better than none in the road of progress!

  " We should take his mask off, see the true and scary guy that's underneath!", _-And you just sound, way too excited about all this.-_

  " Mnn, I think not, Hana. From my calculations, it seems like his whole, ahem, 'outfit', is what really controls his power. I think if we separate any of it, it might make my device work less efficiently- since it piggybacks off of that." _\- Good to know, good to know.-_

  " Aww, well alright. "- She taps against the skull facade, still curious but not willing to press against the orders of her elders.

  The young girl's curiosity is completely snuffed when her prodding rouses him for a moment, to rumble and snap against his bonds that tied his arms behind his back, and his frame to the airships safety chair. He rumbles a laugh when she squeaks and backs up, before settling back into bare consciousness, idling taking in the sounds and voices of those around him, but no longer committing any comments to memory.... Don't know that one, Angela, Winston, Reinhardt, .. Not...not Ana, but it's like it.... Hmnnn..... At least he didn't hear any golden boy. That would truly, truly ruin his day to hear that ghost again.


	2. ch2(very bad week)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> who can hate mercy, really. nobody can hate mercy. not even the mastermind of hate.
> 
> things might get explained better later or i will leave it really vague. if you have a question as to why, just remember this simple mantra from my significant other.  
> 'don't think about it.'

            “He kind of smells.”

            It's true, he does kind of smell. That nice, hinting decay when he lays still, the thick ozone of his breath when he 'dreams'. Angela starts to think that Winston's little trick might be working too well when even days after their return to their home base in Gibraltar, the malicious creature they had worked so hard to obtain didn't rise from his confines. At this point there's all the risk in removing the device in attempt to wake him, and none in letting him fester quietly. The scientist had hoped they could possibly question him for better intelligence or just simple curiosity to his existence, but, uncooperative as ever.

            It had been months- but it felt like days, hours since his call had echoed across the globe, since Winston and Tracer took their first misadventure and settled with what the mission statement would be. Much of the world was, well, distracted with its own problems, so one or two little disturbances weren't hurting anyone. At least that was the plan.

            He was a pet project at first, when Reaper first assaulted the premises and proved himself a formidable and very disturbing opponent. With how easily he slipped in and out of situations; that power needed to be put submission sooner rather than later. It was a sort of.. proof of concept to their purpose. A proof of concept in a bit of a rush pinch. Turns out fanning the flames made an excellent smoke signal for any that dared to dream of a better time again- but also a fire everywhere else.... But how could he sit and face those around him now and complain?

–---

            They take turns playing guard duty to a corpse. A near literal corpse- Angela found herself completely befuddled by the man’s state of being- he goes from long winded hours of pure silence and stillness, sans heartbeat included, to periods when he wheezes and fogs up the entire barrack with thick, ozone scented death. The medic keeps the longest guard herself, most others busy with their own things, but it would be like him to rouse and grumble under the 'watchful' eye of D.VA in the night- after days of presumed unconsciousness.

            Her nose is buried behind the screen of her laptop, sat down beside and legs propped up on the bed he was dutifully strapped too. When he shifts, grumbles, her attention is gained momentarily, but doesn't question it past his usual uncomfortable bouts of sleep; though weird, this one is less.. mn, smelly. It isn't until he stretches, wraps his clawed digits around her bare ankle that she squeaks, again as he remembers this one from before. So young, and impressionable.

            “Oh, ohh ok hello! Can you, maybe not?” she quickly tugs back her leg, slowly losing her balance as she attempts not to drop her computer; leaned too far back in the chair.

 

            _-Can I maybe not. -_     

            Without releasing her, he squeezes instead, “Can I what. “

            “Come on, man. What are you even gunna do, crush me with your big hands.” How can you still tease in this situation, child.

            Squeeze squeeze. “ ..Yeah.”   

            “Ok, well,” she wiggles about now, him unable to see exactly what she's up too in the low light and the distinct desire not to turn his head from its death-stare at the roof. “I'll just have to shoot your hand off, then.“, click. I mean, it would be very stupid not to arm his guard. What pistol of hers could possibly break through the armor of his gauntlets before he could snap the fragile joint, but her light hearted approach to the situation gets to him. Good for Overwatch that seems to be filling its small numbers with those that don't fear death itself.   

Releasing her, he favours testing the bonds at his legs, wrists, shoulders, waist. Very thorough, for someone stripped of his ability to evaporate.

            “I'm gunna go get the doctor, alright tall dark and angry?”, she pulls back her returned leg, giving him a few experimental pats on the restricted part of his arm. This is when he takes the time to tilt a head at her, staring from behind his mask. Reaper is actually a little surprised to notice they haven't attempted to disrobe him at all, though he is without much of his purely ornamental gear. My belts...  I need those.  

            He tries to think of a witty comeback but he leaves her with eerie silence, and she leaves with a sigh and a quiet laugh. As much as he'd like to give her a good verbal thrashing, everything about life right now was still a weird, stiff bodied dream. He goes through the motions of yesterday,(or rather, about five days ago) and yes, this is definitely a dream. A horrible nightmare filled with visions of his past coming back to haunt him. Coming back to torture him and tie him to a bed with a preteen with no filter. Coming back like a weird gold halo in his peripheral vision when she enters in a rush.

            Always a lady of her work, he'd seen her sparsely in old Talon files, and his own memories. What a thing not to have aged a day, what a thing to not recognize him as she silently blipped with the computers around him. Click click click.

            “You look tired.”

            “It's 3 in the morning.”

            It's weird that he breaks the silence, still delirious from this hectic change of power. Her response is terse but he can tell she's confused at the mild amount of sincerity in his words. She makes a move to leave again when everything mechanical and sensory around him seems settled, but stops. Turns back. His head is tilted towards her; has been following her movement with an unseen gaze since she entered. To unnerve her, she assumes.

            “What are you doing?”

            “What are /you/ doing.” _-Really now, Mercy, who is prone on a table, covered in all your little devices here.-_

            “... I'm checking to see what changes in you when you are awake. The differences are miniscule, at least, in your brain waves.”

             “I'm impressed I have a brain you can scan.”.. That was supposed to come out distant and inhuman, but instead he just implies he doesn't have a brain. She lets it slide, just this once.

            “ .. Are you still tired?”

            “Sure.”

            “It's been several days.”

            “Oh, huh. I didn't notice. It's hard to really count the hours when there's no clock and I'm tied to a god damned bed.” Finally the bitterness and irritation comes through properly, and he flexes his hands in their bindings. He thinks for a moment to see about simply phasing through, but catches himself when he remembers how badly it stung and swept him days earlier. He didn't lie. He's still very tired.

            “ … Do you feel like you're dying?”  She's beside the bed now, her eyes unslept and staring down, bemused.

            “I don't need to /feel/ like I'm dying. I'm already dead. Aren't you a world famous doctor? Can't your fun machines all tell?”, he bites at her, flicking against his ropes like a dog at the ready. If he did find himself unbound, he wouldn't be sure he could kill her when faint lines of memory paint the good doctors face in light and hatred at once. Cursed to recognize her back before all this, he was glad she didn't recognized his voice beneath the gravel and the synth of his suit.

            “Ah, forgive me, you are awfully chatty for a corpse. I will leave you to your death, then. I'll have my comrades dig you a nice hole.”, patpat, just like the girl in here before him. Whenshe turns to leave again he grunts, sighs. Stopping, “What, Reaper?”

            Staring. Reaper. Ah yes. I am Reaper. Who is this mortal man that thinks he can clog my memories with fondness? For her? You know, she's the one.. She's one of the ones, the ones of many, Overwatch. Mercy can tell he's run sour again when she speaks of the only name she knows to give him.

            “Nothing. Go the fuck to sleep.”

            She'll tell Winston in the morning- it's far to late and early to deal with such a grown man-child.

                                    ---

            Angela still rises early in the morning, unable to ignore her internal clock. After last night interruption from a very stressed sounding Hana and the ultimate salt she received from their first hostage from a line of hostages she knew they were preparing to house.... Well, her heart would continue to find the right place and she knew it would. Coffee, sit and watch the sun, greet Reinhardt when he arises, talk about the day. Inform him that the ghosty /finally/ woke up.

            “Ah, with all the trouble he put us through, you think he would have a bit more spunk! Pushed my arm right out from under me, you know? Made us chase him all through the city streets! “

            “Yes, well, his tenacity got the best of him as well. I'm wondering now, why he didn't think to run before he grew weary?”

            “ Hmn? Ha, well I doubt he had any interest in being here, no!”, he gives her a comforting pat on the back, as upbeat and unmoveable as ever.

            “Something still just feels a bit... off, you know?”

            “Ah, Dr. Ziegler, do not worry! You are with friends now. It is a little dusty, and we are a little rusty. But we will make do.” Tapping fingers across her mug, still unsatisfied, he wraps his too large arms around her back. “Here, let us go now, we will talk to this Reaper if he wakes for us, and we can settle some of these thoughts you have, yes?” The idea seems to sate her for the moment, rising from her spot and poking at the medically treated area about his left shoulder in dismissive worry. The thought arises that she should really be telling /Winston/ about this, but she finds more comfort in his personal personality in attempting to sway their captive rather than a calculating stance on his shapeshifting form she was sure they would get from the scientist.Just, give her a bit more time with him.

            “Stop over stretching, you. “, prodding at the bandages, she makes sure all is well.

            “I will never stop if it means I cannot give my friends hugs.”

–

            He is awake. He is, so irritable. Silent, but frothing small wisps of smoke generated by his mask and presumably, his mouth alone. Hana took her post again a small while after Angela swept back to sleep, undeterred when Reaper spat violence at her direction. It was fun to tease him for a short while, but he was unable to really grasp her attention when it was grabbed by her computer screen, and the wraith was forced to settle into entropy to the sounds of tech synth music, and the soft plinks of some game she was way, way too into. Immortal to the call of sleep. No wonder she dutifully took to her calling of watching a dead man in the morning hours.

            It still wasn't a relief when Mercy returned again, in a sparse 5 hours later.

            “ Oh, Hana please, you didn't have to come back. He is awake, he isn't going anywhere.”

            “ Nu-uh! You gotta keep an eye on those bad guys, right? Even though the monkey-man says he's all tied up, I've seen him! Turns all into smoke and stuff. “, she speaks slurred in a sleep deprived haze, “ I just got here and I'm not about to let it get ruined by some ghosty dude who smells.”

            “I can hear you.”

            “You BET you can hear me!”, undeterred, she gives him the pattings they all seem to think he deserves, before the good doctor shuffles the younger girl on her way out. Only silence among the three, long lost friends remains for a good amount of time; while Mercy waits for his temper to simmer or flare in response.

            “What. Do you want.”, simmer, simmer.

            Here now, she thinks. I'll settle your temper. It catches Reinhardt quite off guard where she moves next, but he trusts her to know what she's doing- removing the strap keeping him chest-bound to the table. He waits, calculating her moves with a sharp exhale of fog. There is no hesitation to grab when he feels his first arm given freedom, snapping out like an owl on the hunt with claws straight into the pale flesh of the doctor’s neck. Reinhardt moves to intervene, but he stops short at the familiar grunt of pain the wraith exhales before he can even some close to the Mercy's body. It shakes him from the neck down again, his arm forced down to his side before the device lets his muscles relax.

            “ .. Ahh..”, the largest man breaks the moment, “ I am glad you trust his machines so well, then?”

            “Yeah, 'cause breeding hate in something screaming to tear out your throat is doing you favours.”  The wraith leans back into his bed again, growing fully 'unrestrained' but still as she works out each buckle.

            “I'm not quite sure how you think I'm breeding hate, actually? I could leave you tied to the bed. My large friend here, he wants to.”       

            “Your large friend seems to just blindly trust you.”

            “Believe me, dead man, it isn't blind.” , she reaches out to grasp at one of his hands, following when he recoils it.

            “What do you want.”

            “For you to relax, maybe?”

            He laughs, loudly into the open air. “You're not going to get what you want then, Angela.”

            They're both taken slightly aback when the ghost so calmly uses her first name, commonly going by her title of Dr. Ziegler or, in the case of Overwatch, as Mercy. “You don't have to posture like that, you know. My name is easily come by. Yours, however is not. I wonder, what you would have me call you? I called you by what Talon called you last night but you-... you didn't seem to favour it.”

            “ Reaper /is/ my name. You reminded me last night what I was, and why nothing you do here will make me /relax/.” He raps his newly freed claws against the wall above his head, using the stretched arm across his face to block them from staring at it. As much as he was aware he had a mask, nothing made him want to even fake eye contact between himself and these people he was attempting to socialize as strangers.

            “I mean, I am a doctor. Despite you apparently not having blood, I'm sure I can find something to calm you.” She teases, still trying to bring the conversation into a mood she'd find easier to deal with.

            He doesn't really bite. “Trust me, /doc/, you couldn't, you can't do a single thing for me. You've got no stick, no carrot I want. Give up before I crush your weak little heart.”

            “You really do have quite the bite there, ja?”, the largest man finally speaks, to relieve the stress from his friend, as promised. “Even in the face of defeat, here, trapped and weak.”

            “Yeah,”, he chuckles, low in his throat, “ I'm kinda good like that. “ In a thought, he leans up again. Clicking a claw against his mask. “Comes with the territory of being, a 'bad guy', right? That's why I am here. I'm the bad guy, and you're the good guys, because you're /trying/ to be nice. Well, you know what, good guys? You'd be far better off digging me a grave like you said you would last night, because, I /promise you/. I'll make you regret it. I'll make you regret ever bringing me here, I'll make you regret taking away my chance to get what I want.”, he leans, forward, snapping his unseen teeth and wobbling his form at the feet- posturing and puffing up like the great swath of rage and hate that he was.

            They both seem terribly unenthused by his best display- and he was about question an aggressive /why/, when the reasoning came snapping like a whip to his throat. It jolts him back to solid form, forcefully and /painfully/ as it did the first time. The wraith was too caught up in his cockerel display to remember how he'd become stuck in this miserable predicament in the first place. Only a moment passed before he desperately forms, but it’s too late for his posture, and he pitifully tumbles face first to the floor with the dullest of thuds. At the very least, the largest of them grabs his legs backwards before he can scorpion over onto his back and snap the damn thing, but he /fumes/ when his leg grappler peels into loud and echoing bouts of laughter. Mercy tries her best not to giggle along with her cohort, but it's so hard, and his laughter had always been terribly infectious.

            Reaper thrashes about violently after a half minute of this, hopelessly grasping to the floor for, as he distinctly remembered trying to find days earlier, /any semblance of sanity/. Once again, there was none here. He barks through the louder man, rough in his throat but /screeching/, “Okay, OK. Alright, Doc, you leave, right now, and I will, /RELAX/? Can that be a deal?”

            She quickly quiets Reinhardt with a grasping hand over his mouth, shh shhing to give Reaper her attention at his duress. “Alright, I can work with that. Do not leave this room. Do not touch any of the computers. I /will/ know if you have, when I return.”

            “/FINE./”, he hasn't looked up from the floor yet, digging long lines into the tiles below him. There is nothing more he wants then for them to leave him alone, and is willing to settle whatever terms she sets.

            She and Reinhardt leave instantly after the quick deal is settled.... if only to laugh more between themselves in the kitchen they were enjoying coffee in just hours ago. When other come to greet them and question the fits, in an act of good will, they keep the joke to themselves.

             Who knows when they'll need the blackmail?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah alright alright alright alright alright alright
> 
> i have terrible anxiety.


	3. ch3(very bad month)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i just, hana is so friendly. if reaper could eat her he would but he can't so why look a gift horse in the mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please please PLEASE let this transfer properly into ao3's interface i've have to fix every other chapter uncomfortably manually and i haven't gotten 1 as straight as i would like i need like a crash course on getting this to do what i want. please just. just indent for me. just this once.

   He is left for a week or so, by 'himself', as every attempt to socialize the ghost was received with hostility- barking 'get out's and 'no's without hesitation. Angela was assuming at this point, with his apparent pleather prison and non-corporal form, that he didn't require what they would consider sustenance; the self-imposed solitude sealed the nail in the coffin, so to speak. This lead lots of unanswered questions about what kept him /alive/, or rather just alive-ish, but she never seemed to have the forethought to ask him. It was still quiet and controlled at the base, so it wasn't terrifyingly dire they work with Reaper other than to keep him off the streets... but she couldn't help but feel a little pity. A wonder to the man he might have been before Talon warped him.

   If only she could really know. How she didn't know! It was her that visited the wraith the most often, consistently once a day to give the option of company. His interest for her wasn't going to change anytime soon. Other tricks were hidden up a sleeve, however, and one night his sleepless brooding and grumbling was instead intruded upon by one D.VA- or 'Hana Song' as he was aware of her name from distantly recalled Talon information logs.

   Internet star, movie star, recently enough a 'war' star as well. 19. Eh, they'd recruited younger in the past, Blackwatch... She even /felt/ young, however, oppressively optimistic and peppy. When the girl first tried to persuade him; she received the same crass response as everyone else- but the difference was in the fact she returned within /minutes/ instead of hours or, better yet, days. Laptop in hand. New offers and 'carrots' to tempt him with. An unending supply of energy and nothing better to do. His brain rotted under the stress.

   “What is she paying you.”

   “Huh? Whatcha mean, who's paying me?”

   “The doctor. What is she paying you to fuck with me.”

   “… Uhh... Maybe I just want to be friendly! “, she slips in, the ghost flat on his face on the bed; an 'invite', she would take. The fact he wasn't up and trying to claw her eyes out for once was an indicator of learned helplessness too. She's dressed in her best, non-threatening PJ's, fleece and decorated with stars and moons- even adorned with her own blanket, draped over her head. Sleep over ready when you are. This is where life is heading for you... Or, your unlife, one might suppose.

   “Why.”

   “Why NOT? Look, Mr. Black, we don't have room for a big dumb rock stealing a whole angst room for himself.”, she waits a short while as he mopes, testing the waters per-say, with terrible humor. "You need to share the angst, for everyone. "

   “Then you shouldn't have brought me here.”, the humour is verbally refused.

   “Oh, ok, that isn't /my/ fault. Maybe you shouldn't have been such an asshole.”

   “I am more than an /asshole/-”, he tries to further defend himself and his notable carrier of destruction, but is interrupted.

   “No, nu-uh. Here and now with these people.... here, you're just an asshole. “

   “I know who you are.”, he speaks with threat, more like, -I know you're a normal, squishy human.-

    “Yeah? You're just an asshole to me too, now.”, she slaps a hand down onto his back, a final water test to his current submission. He doesn't rise to her touch. Perfect, tenouttaten.

   “I could make you eat those words-”

    Except you can't! Because,”, she snaps her fingers, giving him finger guns he can't see because he refuses to get up, “ You're here, and you're-'

   “OK. Stop saying the word 'asshole'. It's going to lose meaning at that rate.”

   “Well I'm sorry, English isn't my first language so I don't have a lot to work with.”, with how fluent she is so far, he doubted lack of vocabulary was the problem here.

   “Why aren't you in Korea?”

   “Because I work here now.”

   “What about the Omnic there.”

   “They have enough people for now... And, when they need it more, they can have all of Overwatch to help.”

   “So they sold you.”

   She scoffs, offended, taking the time now to pull up her favourite horrible office chair and slip up beside the bed; nestled with a laptop and her very plush looking comforter. “They didn't /sell/ me... Selling involves like, actual money.”

   He finally deigns it time to shift, lifting himself up at the chest to gawk at her sidelong. “So you were a... present.”

   “… Ok don't put it that way, either. I agreed to be here. And the people here are cool!... Except YOOOOOOOOU.”, she hesitated when he moved, but didn't stop to give him a big pointed finger when she emphasized her words with loudness.

   If he could blink and stare, he would, but instead settles for just staring. “I'm not going to work with you people.”

   “But why not. You're a cool ghost. And you worked for Talon! Just tell me what Talon offered you, and I am sure I can find you something better. Unless it was hot women. Or hot men. I mean, “, she rambles, thinking about the various existing members with a too eager thought to how hot they might be, “ I don't think anyone here will agree to be with a depressing fart cloud.”

   He tries, /desperately/, to ignore the fart cloud joke. “Talon offered me the chance to find and /kill you all/. Unless you want to help me kill your 'friends', your new comrades, you aren't going to get anywhere.”

   Like a switch, she flicks to a completely different topic when he starts getting foggy and violent. “Wanna watch a movie.”, gesturing to her laptop.

   “I don't want to watch any of your stupid Korean movies.”

   “Duh, you don't know Korean. Or do you? We can watch something in English! “

   “I don't want to watch anything.”

   “Really? I have the internet at my disposal.", with a waving motion, she gestures to the laptop with an impish expression. "There isn't, anything, anything you want to watch?”

   The ghost thinks about it, long and introspective, and for once the younger girl gives him the quiet moment to think. “... Can I type? I don't want to tell you how to spell this.”, and while she balked for a second, surprised as his will is bent, the keyboard is offered and he clacks against it, delicately, with practiced claws. 

\---

   “She's been in there for a couple hours.”, Angela speaks with a tone of concern, but inside she's elated. Athena reports that Reaper has remained calm and unprovoked the entire duration of the younger girls stay(save for a short second earlier in the interaction), and it is weighed an experiment successful. The two, Tracer and Winston, who had seen the wraith in action, were on the doctors back however, logically distrustful of their captive. They meet, after she describes her plan to befriend the self-proclaimed sociopath, in her reclaimed medical office. It's been cleaned and freshened, desk filled with stacked papers and supplies. Wide doors behind her lead to the full, but current unused medbay. She'd been spending quite the time since she returned getting it prepared for herself and those who would most certainly come to need it in much tidier estates.

   “You don't know if he's messed with the computers systems, or if he's-”

   “I have you and Athena to trust for in the functioning of our little prison, and Hana is a very capable young woman. She wasn't so highly regarded in her home country for just her good looks.”

   “Ey, well I mean, she coulda been but I know whatcha mean.”, Lena finally speaks, rocking on her heels. She's nervous too but hides it better than her ape comrade. “Just let me take a peek, ok? You know me, I'll be real quick. If he gets mad then Hana ain't doin' a good of a job as ya think?”

   The doctor starts to give her a dismissive wave, but then falters. “Mnnmm..”

   “And it could give her an out, too, if she's just gettin' tired.”

   “... Fine, I will advocate you going to see how they are. But please, don't linger! I am really trying here. You're pressing my buttons enough just telling me we're about to be a prison for more people like him.”

   “I know, I know Dr. Ziegler. We're still letting you try, and even if by chance this has gone poorly tonight, I'm not going to throw your ideas out the window here. “, the scientist speaks, giving her a solid pat on the back while Tracer waves and zips down the hall. “ Honestly, I was really hesitant at first, but you know, it would be really nice if we could weaponize the enemy ourselves.”

   She leans, SIIIIGHS at his word usage. Weaponize. No, Winston.

   “Oh, what did I say? I mean, it would be nice to just be friends too! “, he quickly backtracks, but she giggles to let him know it's not that bad. “ Anything that could ease our strain here, right?” 

\-- 

   Soap operas. Korea was common with that themselves, but these were. Different. /Spanish/ soap operas. She complained for a moment because, heck, she didn't know Spanish, but it was his way or the highway on this matter and she folded like wet paper. Better this than nothing!

   And boy, she did not regret. This shit. This garbage, was hilarious. He /must've/ been choosing the absolute garbargiest ones he knew as some kind of compromise to her lack of understanding Spanish- but when he laughed, it felt surreal. His voice broke free of its forced gravel for a moment; but he choked when she leaned back to stare at him with wide eyes.

   “You, you are capable of humor? Just wait until I tell everyone. “

   “You will tell no one or I won't ever let you back into my house.”

   “Oh, and you would give up your chance to watch this trash?”

   “I have been /years/ without this, I am absolutely sure I can survive. Look at you, you're enjoying yourself way too much.”

   The laptop grabs her attention again, the characters dramatically announcing various serious sounding Spanish professions. She's distracted enough even she doesn't hear the whine and click of air pressuring- of something being /removed/.

   The computer near the bed beeping a quiet warning has her sitting up and bit to gawk at it, however, and the scent of ozone and decay invading her senses presses immediately. It takes her, in his opinion, way too long to turn back around and stare at him from her vantage in the office chair and him above on the bed.

   A metal hand slapped over her face silences the screech just a moment too late, and she fights past his loosely gripped palm to spit Korean expletives at him before transitioning into English.

   “Oh my god no wonder you are so salty all the time, you look like someone shit razor blades all over your face- oh, oh my god,” she continues on, leaning back and horrified while he laughs. Sure, he has lots of scars, they bisect his face and mar his lips in places to show to teeth beneath. Many of these occurred before he died, honestly. The largest that crack lines through his left eye and sheer through his jaw to his teeth on the right side are obviously misplaced among the other faint ones; they look almost fresh and /stink/.

   Her horror(and his amusement) only grows as the scars fall apart in glistening wisps of flesh evaporating into the air. It's as if his face has no desires to stay in place, and he clacks his teeth at her with a far darker chuckle then the laugh she was greeted with from his bad tv shows.

   “That's GROSS. Why does your face /do that?/ You're gunna really freak me out, is that comfortable?”, her voice cracks into hushed squeaks, giggling in pure nervousness.

   “ It does that 'cause I'm /dead/, and actually... no it's really uncomfortable, I can feel it falling off.”, a claw is raised to itch at the particularly gross one about his eye, and when the flesh easily gives way it gives her a nice view of the white bone beneath. She is properly and gaggingly revolted.

   “Then put your mask back on you goof! Winston said that thing kept you all together, right? He was not lying!”

   They're interrupted by a quick knock at the door, and before they can reply and he can slip back under the disguise he still held in his palm, a time warping interloper enters. Must've been encouraged to be hasty under the muffled cries of Hana, and her exasperated whining.

   Well, it was going to happen eventually- and as his 'friend' had just said, his face looked quite unlike himself. Maybe she wouldn't recognize him through the fog and the scaring. He was vaguely aware of how good Tracer was with faces.... She stops mid-sentence, him not taking the time to convert her British rambling into functioning English. They're all silent now, staring at him while he slowly evaporates and rebuilds his face in time. They could hear it quietly beyond the computers hum- a wet squelching and hiss as it goes.

   She's staring. It's probably just because of his face. Oh wait, no it isn't. Eyes widening in recognition, breath hitching, hands raising defensively as her face bends to pure distress.

   “No. No no no, no.”

   Hana is completely taken by confusion, head darting its gaze between the two. He bares his teeth at the teleporter's hesitation, snarling an answer to her rhetorical question.

   “Yes..!”

   Suddenly she isn't in the room anymore- and he's vaguely caught in the idea that she had never been in the room- but it was too startling an occurrence for either him for the other on the floor to forget when time readjusted. Apparently Hana had been caught in her time loops before, and after a moment shakes her head and faces him.

   “… What was that! I mean your face is ugly, but if /I/ can handle it...”

   Slipping his mask back on, he grumbles, mood soured pitifully from a night he might in the future look back upon as 'enjoyable'. “She just thought she saw a ghost, I guess. You should leave.”

   As much as she wanted to complain- it had been a long night and she could tell whatever moment they were having was very much gone. Besides, she wasn't stupid. Lena would be back. “Alright but, I'll be back tomorrow. I'm not going to watch these stupid shows by myself.”

   Silent response, whatever. It was too late, Mr. Black. You already showed you were capable of having fun. There's no going back on that now- at least not for Hana. 

      ---

   Angela however was about to be very close to changing her mind about Reaper. Lena comes in a breathless rush. While the scientist and the doctor waited with small talk and banter, Athena had notified Winston of a minor malfunction in Reapers collar that she had corrected immediately- something about the flow of mass shifting minutely between the capture device. He hadn't worried about in the slightest until the teleporter returned, uninjured, but looking completely disheveled. Her eyes wander between the two of them, wordless as they questioned.

   “Lena! What is wrong? Athena reported something but it sounded fine? Do we need to intervene for Ms. Song?”

   She shakes her head violently, no, blocking off the door as he tried pushed past to remove himself from the room.

   “What? Did he do something to you? Lena, speak.”, Angela curls her hands around the bottom of the younger woman’s jaw, gently forcing her into eye contact. She shakes her head again, no, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to speak, but it spills out, drowning in accent and non-sequiturs.

   “I just, I heard a scream so I, and well, he was there, and she was, it smelled and I thought, but when I saw, it was, I just-”

   Mercy shuts her eyes as well, attempting to grasp the meaning between the fast spoken girl, but fails. “Shh ok, just. Slow down for a minute.”

   “Oh, have fun getting her to slow down for anything...”

   Mercy leads the other over to one of the chairs in her medical office, gently coercing her to sit down and think. Only a few moments pass again before she thinks of a good enough thought to go with.

   “Ok, so I know I thought we'd be seeing a lot of 'ghosts' when you started up Overwatch again, like when you showed up,” she gestures to Angela hastily, “ And Reinhardt like, honestly. But. Real ghosts were kind of supposed to be out of the question.”

   “.. Are you saying we might know who Reaper is?”

   They sit in silence again for a moment.

   “Or he's wearin' Gabriel Reyes' skin like a meat suit. I wouldn't really put it past him.”

   The silence after the idea that Reaper might be wearing the visage of an old, bretraying friend was much longer. It lingered tenfold at the idea that he might literally just be Reyes. There had be unconfirmed but very much believed talk that the primary downfall of Overwatch and the betrayal of Blackwatch was by his hand- and with the explosion of the Swiss headquarters, all that was presumed to remain in the past. Maybe Lena was seeing things wrong- with all the excitement about their renewal and the thought of her old friends, it could be easy that she was mistaken.

   “Yeah, except he said 'yes' to me, an' I don't think he was just saying 'yes' to bein' a freaky ghost man! His face was fallin' to piece but I swear, Angela, it was him.” 

\--- 

   “I dunno, Doc, monkey told me I'm not supposed to remove my mask. Made his little toy work less good.”, he flicks the collar idly, then shrugs.

   “You already took it off, and Athena corrected for the removal with ease. Also, I'm not a monkey, but if we are to be correct, you know that quite well already.”

   They had him pinned up in the corner of his room now, the three of them being Winston, Angela and Reinhardt. Not literally pinned up, but figuratively, as he desperately moves away from their mass taking up the already compacted closet he called 'his' for now. He knew it was coming the moment his movie-friend had moved on and left him to think about his mistakes, but it wasn't enough time. Why was he even trying to hide it. The cat was out of the bag... but it was his god given right to force them to wrestle the cat into submission. He did promise he was going to make it difficult.

   Angela presses his space like a woman on a mission, a doctor unafraid of confrontation. “ Just do it. “

   “Ohh, with how startled I made /poor Tracer/, what kind of gentleman would I be if I forced that on you. She couldn't even come back to face me, I see.”

   She remains unimpressed and unphazed, “Excuse me, but I am forcing this on you, not the other way around.”

   No one else is speaking and neither of the other two will give him a glance to work with. She was always the hardest bargain when she wanted, wasn't she. Out of energy already from a night of attempting to be social, more drained then usual from starving and insomnia... he begrudgingly snaps his hand up to his face, unlatching the clips about his neck and the top of his head to pull the tight mask from his form. It wisps beneath as it moves, parts still decayed and misplaced from his previous experience with D.VA.

   They recognize him anyways.

   Winston leaves promptly to wait out in the hall. Angela chokes back noises of disgust, but Reinhardt stays fast and solid. Reyes refuses to make eye contact- instead opting to squeeze his gaze sidelong enough to hurt. His sclera, white when they started, grew over with veins of red and black as time passed, pulsing with a heartbeat the doctor swore she could not detect. She focused on the parts about him that feigned life while they waited for someone to think of something to say.

   “What happened to you.. If it is, you. Is it?”

   “I could ask you, /Doc/...and sure, yeah. I'm sure look like who you think I am.” In honestly, he didn't remember. Or he did, but it hurt to think about. Physically hurt, ached inside his head, his bones, brought him to his knees just to think. “I told you, didn't I. I'd make you regret even thinking about being 'kind' to me.”

   The doctor stares at the floor to think. She wanted to regret it, but now, knowing even more who it was, she didn't? But how was she supposed to share her empathy now. Knowing he would never want it.

   Like last time, it's Reinhardt who breaks the ice for her. He pushes past, gently, and while Reyes makes a frantic crush into the wall, he can't escape he large man. He expects to get hit. Pushed into the wall again, injured and broken. Instead he receives a massive warmth wrapped around his midsection, pulled up and squeezed, gently. He's hugging him. Gabriel can't see, but he can feel the confusion off the pushed aside medic. Hell, he could feel his own confusion, burning holes in his hands.

   “We were friends once. If you don't remember, that is OK, because I do. I lost so many of you."

  There's no words to respond to that. He opts to grumble instead, pressing weakly with claws digits against the part of Reinhardt that offends his chest; it's an effort of dismissal but it's abysmal at deterring the large man. Lost so any of us. Their mind both linger to the same, of Jack, and Ana. He holds them there as long as either of them can stand, and while it piques his humanity long enough to settle down his fog and repair his face to a point he is truly recognizable beyond the usual scars and the two largest nastiest looking ones, he presses with his hands again, more forcefully.

   “Leave me. Please.”

   The knight is moved by the ghost’s disturbingly sincere request, and moves backwards to the door. Mercy protests, but is dragged out by an arm to silence from the two males.

   He clips his mask on and slips back into bed, sleeping unpeacefully like the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i proofread this at 1 in the morning so, sure, i regret. i promise, reaper76 is coming. probably in the next chapter. prepare for more suffering before the fun arrives.


	4. ch4(very bad year)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i love my precious audio-medic. i also love my less precious soldier dad. see how much i love them
> 
> also, wrasslin'.

   Things progress... remarkably controlled. It's much to the great effort of Hana, liaison of good moods- and the long since derelict base finds itself habitable for the growing crowd. Angela pins down Jesse Mccree the moment he arrives, worn and tired but still pleasant in his outward mood. The time to sit and readjust is given, barely, but the cowboy isn't too stupid to know she's got something important to tell him. There was line up now, though, as Genji had appeared to save him from the American desert for some task of his own. In the end the cyborg let Mercy take lead first, constantly indebted to her, and in no real rush.

   She was skirting the subject. /They/, were skirting the subject, asking the cowboy about his past with Blackwatch, about the coming fall of the aforementioned military, about his old boss and mentor, Gabriel Reyes.

   “Alright, just hold on a minute here. You are makin' an awful, specific, fuss about a guy I ain't seen in years. I was pretty sure he was dead, actually, but you're all talking like I'm about to turn a corner and see him. I am, aren't I? You're about to shove me right in the face of an' old god damned ghost.”

   “... I mean.”, Lena rocks on her heels, eyes rolling to the roof. She's can't help but smile, nervously, at the whole situation. Neither of her cohorts are in that high of spirits.

   The doctor shrugs, giving Jesse a weak expression. “It's complicated? It could be an elaborate fake from Talon, a, very elaborate fake.. We can recognize his face, but. None of us were terribly close with him outside of work? If we had Morrison, sure, but... That one really won't be coming back. So I'm kind of counting on how well you remember.”

   His fingers snap and he gives her a good waggle of his pointer, “ Aha now, if you're telling me Reyes is in a room here somewhere, I ain't counting finding the other old fart out of the question, either,”, he jokes, of course, “ And.. God, did I really know him outside a' work?”

   “Comparatively, and out of the people we currently have at our disposal. If you could just talk to him, maybe? “

   “Reinhardt already seems pretty sure it's him, actually! So we're just coverin' all our bases.”, Tracer speak up again, giving the man across from them a good arm pat. “And you're not obligated to do it, either. You just got here and I guess it's kind of a big favour to ask right away!.”

   A metal hand returns her patting, firm and reaffirming, “No darlin, it's nothing. Just put a coffee in my hand and show me the way. “

   The overeager teleporter describes the entire ordeal during the walk to the 'jail' portion of the base, it more recently having been upgraded in security to this title. The story, is of course, compacted and bullet pointed, but the cowboy had been vaguely aware of Talon and Reaper from his own uncomfortable journeys the past years.

   The door is guarded by, oh, what’s her name, D.VA? Some fancy pants gamer girl with a knack for hand eye coordination and shooting shit to death in a mecha suit? Jesse gives the doctor a sheepish look at their choice in guard, but she quickly reassures that there has been literally no one better than her. He gets out a comment about Reyes not liking younger girls before, but Lena gives him a solid punch to the arm, and Hana doesn't seem to hear or care. She turns a face them though, flashing a tiny heart between her palms at their approach.

   “Hello, Ms. Song! … Not inside? Has he still not been playing nice?”, Angela speaks, concern in her tone.

   “Actually no! We were hanging out for a bit, but I started talking about the new people who had been showing up and he got all squirrely. “, she squints at the overdressed, eyeballing his spurs and up to his hat. “ I think actually it was when I mentioned you. Everyone knows Mr. Black before except me!”, she exclaims, standing up with a huff. “I really need to go to the bathroom, so don't get shanked while I'm gone, American boy.”

   He tried to protest, but she was already gone, leaving them with a giggle and an... Eerie feeling from beyond the door.

   “Well, cat's out of the bag if we were trying to get me to get the jump on him... You say he's pacified, right?”

   “Righto, couldn't hurt a fly.”                                        

   Taking the air of surprise between the two ladies, he simply reeves the door open with one solid motion. They're instantly greeted by a scent two of them found familiar when dealing with the wraith, and the newest found deeply oppressing to his senses. He was about to comment on it, actually, but his throat is caught up by the owner of said scent, literally, choking him with solid claws.

   “OXTON YOU SAID-”, he manages to bark, but Reaper interrupts himself with a pained groan and a loosened grip. Scared the moment wouldn't last, he slams a metal fist into his assailants stomach, forcing his weight against him a moment after to lead them both to the floor. Mccree doesn't expect the ghost to go down and easily and as stiff as he does, and lands hard on his knees. Reaper, of course, takes to a tirade of swearing and insults, threatening to kill and maim. The two women, while startled, sees his collar working to full effect, no matter how irritable it was to the ears. A hand is offered immediately to help him rise to his feet, but Mccree shrugs it off, opting instead to wrassle him into talking.

   “Hey, HEY HEY NOW. Hold up! Whoa ok, just. Hold on a minute here big guy. Settle down.”

   “I- hrk, I AM NOT A HORSE? “ , he whaps at him, nowhere near hurting in order to bypass the submissive collar, but annoying nonetheless. “You can't just tell /me/ to 'settle down'..!“, reaching up with a gauntlet he grips at his face, awkwardly pressing the flesh out of place.

   Both woman remove themselves from the situation, close enough at ear to assist if needed, but comprehending the situation as out of their hands. Not to mention the requirement to avoiding the throttling and bucking of the fight already lost Reaper, who remains as salty and desperate despite.

   It's a fight much like arguing with a horse, even though the floor'd one denied it. Between the still skilled wrangler and the subjugated wraith, it was Reaper whose stamina faltered and left the two of them breathing on the floor in the dark.

   “.. Alright, so, now we're done..?”

   “No.”

   “Dunno boss, feels done to me.”

   “Don't call me that.”, he's flat on his face, arm wrenched into his back, but it doesn't stop him from weakly pushing up the man who straddled above him.

   “Don't call yah' what? Hmn, I can't remember a single time I actually managed to kick your ass before.”

   “If I wasn't collared like a /dog/ you would be /dead./”

   “Mn, well, I'll take that as good luck on my side. Boy howdy, you sure do sound familiar, a bit like you've been eating a bag a rocks and speakin' through a fan. Do I get to see your pretty face too, Gabriel?”

   “You know what? Nevermind. I'm not Gabriel. I lied. I am Reaper, your friend is dead and I'm wearing his body as a reminder of your many, many failures. You left us.”, the last words hiss in his throat, neck straining to look at his adversary.

   “ Mnnmn, no siree you can't go back on it now. It's too late. You fucked it up. “ he pushes up against his captive, releasing his arm and standing- but placing a firm boot on his back. “... I could get mighty used to this.”

   “Don't even think about it. I promised the Doctor, and I'll promise you. I'll get out of this, and when I do-hrk.”, previously mentioned, the boot and spur finds a good place to step down into the 'meat' of his back, and he falters, ending his sentence early to fog and /growl/.

   The cowboy takes it as his cue to exit, leaving the beaten one to think about his life choices once again. Both Tracer and Mercy are eager to hear his answer, which he gives non-verbally with a frown and a curt nod of the head.

   “What? Just like that? You didn't even see his face.”, Lena seems incredulous to believe his honest answer.

   “Yeah, I... didn't need to. “, it was obvious, when he sat back and thought about the past. “ I mean, extremely elaborate fake could still be a thing, he's not acting... exactly what I'd be callin' 'right'. But I sort just...felt it. It felt like it.”, a hand reaches up to scratch a nervous line in his beard, idling his gaze between the two of them. They seemed inclined to take his 'wisdom' with a grain of salt- mostly because it was the same vague reason that Reinhardt had given them earlier. They head back to the emotional headquarters that was Dr. Ziegler’s office, tired from nothing.

   “Haaa, I still don't think Winston'll take that answer! Shoot. I guess it really is a shame we don't have Jack... “

   “Nope, call me a fool but I'm sure he'd be givin' you the same answer as me. That long ago, with what looks to be a terrible bad time he had. There's not a lot to recognize, darlin'.”

   It's not a great thought either, but they were very aware of it even if the cowboy hadn't just brought it to the surface again. Angela hadn't lost that pity she felt at the man converted and warped. Even the man who had helped brought Overwatch to its knees. She was grasping at the idea there was a better reason for it then petty jealousy, and both Tracer and Mccree can catch the good doctor’s expression faltering; her eyes glazing over and sidelong.

\---

   “Well, many people have been asking for our help, but not many so far have been as capable sounding as this young man has proven to be! Made quite the name for himself on the market of freedom fighting in his home country. “

   Winston leans over his computer screen, Tracer at his side to inspect the distress call from the lone man. Her and her comrade had been out on several missions now, failed or successful, and it wasn't beyond their reach that more hands on recruiting would happen eventually. The dark skinned male on the screen was... semi familiar, but his name was scrawled across the screen, Lucio Correia dos Santos. In compact form, his message, “Hey, you should invite me to your group, but also, I'm trapped in Mexico and would love your help getting un-trapped.”

   They recruit the willing and able from the group to assist in planning. The newest arrivals are still weary, so they don't take to informing Mccree, Genji or Mei about the upcoming mission. Honestly, extraction of a single captive shouldn't be anywhere near hard- but as they dig their heels into the meat of it, discretion was turning up high on the priority list.

   “It's a heavily impacted area with gang violence, though it appears Vishkar is what has really got him stuck in his safe house. Between these two things, it's kind of a problem rock and a hard place.”

   “.. Yeahp, looks like he's got a long line of offenses against them! Wow, he just. He just stuck a right thorn in that side.”, Lena has the list in her hands, scrolling. Theft. Assault. Real annoyed about the apparent powerhouse of corruption Vishkar was.

   D.VA comes into the meeting room late, with donuts and coffee. A wave is given to those in the room, (Winston, Tracer, Mercy, Reinhardt, Pharah.), but her eyes are taken by the screen and the picture of whom the discussion was for.

   “Oh, my god! Why are you all gawking at a picture of Lucio??”, the recognition in her voice leaves her a response of confused expressions.

   “Do you... Do you know him?”, the ape speaks aloud what they silently thought.

   “Uh, duh. That's Lucio, he's like, a world famous music star! He's been making sick beats all around the word from Brazil! Some say his music has POWERS!”, powers being emphasized by her hands in a 'jazzy' looking gesture as she awkwardly moves to place her food items on the table without dropping anything.

   “… Does he now? “, Lena wipes away from his criminal record, and to a web search of 'lucio musics'. “ .. Hah, oh that's hilarious. She's not lyin'! Mate's been all over doing music. God, now that's a weird disconnect. If you look hard enough to can tell people know he's been leadin' a double life, but you sure gotta look!”

  
“Well yeah, I mean, the people who like his tunes, like him also because of the image he has. Freedom and integrity!”, a hand slaps down on the table as Hana sits, then stares at the screen again. “ … We aren't going to go try and stop him, are we..? Because then I will have some words to-”

   “No, child, we're not going to fight him. He messaged us to join us, but he's gotten too far into someones bad side.”, Fareeha speaks, interrupting and commanding before the excitable one can get into her tirade. Startled into silence, she sits down sheepishly to listen to the full explanation.

   “Unfortunately enough, Fareeha is correct. If Athena's reconnaissance on the area is correct- he is out of immediate danger from Vishkar, but they are blocking off any exits from the area. His immediate danger comes from the gangs nearby, who are agitated by the companies existence in their 'turf'. If we want to get in and out with him, unknown, we will need to be extremely discreet. Which... Isn't a strong suit so far? “, the scientist looks about the group, and no one really disagrees. “ Tracer, you're my best option, but you would be going in alone again.

   The instant downfall of her mood gives him his answer to that. Her last big mission alone was.. quite the misadventure, and he doesn't blame her for not wanting to go alone again.

   Hana breaks the awkward silence with a snap of her fingers, “I got it.”

   “.. I'm listening.”

   Her fingers move into a gun gesture when she points at his nose, winking, “Sneaky ghosts.”

   He doesn't get it at first. Mercy does, and she sighs, groaning at the idea and giving the girl the most tired of looks. It clicks, “... Absolutely not? We haven't had any luck with him so far-”

   “Excuse me yes I have! I have been working my BUTT off! He's really... frr... friendly. “, she chokes out the word, meaning it, but oh so not meaning it. “ Besides! I've been thinking about what else I can do for him to keep this ball rolling. Dr. Ziegler told me to help the guy so, even though apparently we all changed our mind one night, and I still don't know why, I'm still, I still want to do that? Just because of what I've seen when we're hanging out. Would it hurt you to at least... think about it?”

   Nobody wants to really hear it except Angela, when she laughs, quietly, and speaks. “You did say it, Winston. Weaponize the enemy. He honestly might be so excited for action he'd do it without complaint.” D.VA punctuates her response with a clap and a wide gesture of her hand, offering the idea physically to the table.

\---

   The lack of scent shows worlds to how much he's grown to... 'appreciate', Hana's company, but he doesn't hesitate to let her know how much he isn't appreciating the rest of the company. They have him out of his room, guarded and cuffed despite them all knowing well he was quite unable to fight back. Sat down in a distantly familiar mission room, he waits... It's all very awkward and horrible but he has no idea what they're going to ask him. Maybe they're finally gunna put him down. Maybe they're selling him back to Talon. He secretly dreads the latter.

   “Reyes.”

   “Don't call me that.”

   “... Reaper.”, the gorilla wants to argue with him, but won't while they step on the coals of the current situation.

   “What.”

   “It's about time you pulled your weight around here.”, what poor sentence choice, but he was trying to be lighthearted.

   “Are you fucking me.”

   “I am not- no. “, the wraith makes it very hard not to argue with him- at least for Winston. “ We are just, we're in a bit of a pinch here, and Hana seems to think that you would be the best help, given the scenario.”

   “That's sweet. What.”, straight forward and to the point, but he encourages him to explain rather than completely shutting him down, which is... a thing.

   “Someone wishing to join our fine establishment is having a problem getting to us. He wasn't in Overwatch before, so he doesn't have the same methods our older members had. “

   “Hana made it here.”

   “That’s different. He works for himself.”

   “Ha. It'd mean more if he showed up, bleeding but on his own. What makes you think it's worth it if you have to save his ass. “

    “That's not how we work. We don't have to torture people for acceptance.” The room cracks when the pressure changes, his form exhaling a waft of grumbling fog. The audacity of that statement- but before Reaper can reply, the ape reaffirms his statement, “Here, this is an example of us moving on from that part! I'm offering you some... leash, per-say. If you can get this mission done, we can start talking about letting you have part of the base to wander, with supervision, or other kinds of things. “

   “What makes you think I want to leave- hmn...”, a volatile statement spits out before he can catch himself, but Winston lets it slide when he hesitates and thinks about it. “ Just let me see what you want me to work with here, why me, why do you think you /specifically/ want me.”, claws tap against the table surface, beckoning some kind of paper or vid screen information to work with. Nothing comes, and he looks up to face the ultimatum he knew was coming.

   “I need someone who can come in and out like a shadow, and Genji is still resting.”

   “Like hell that glowing bastard could out shadow /me/.”, the scientist takes a great amount of strain not to giggle at how well he /took that bait./

   “Then we're settled? ”, the pressure is on to agree without a full hand of cards, but it isn't as if Reaper was still expecting them anymore. He's taken aback when the monkey-man takes the introspective moment as negativity and speaks again, “You'll be fighting off gang members, primarily.”

   Head tilting in curious response, he hardly thinks before he speaks, gesturing with his hands. “You mustn't care what happens to those people.”

   “I just need you not to make a scene.”

   “I can do that... I can probably do that.”

   He takes that as a success, trying not to think about how fast his switch turned when he offered meat. No matter who they sent in, the situation for the gangs was not the prettiest. “You're going to have to do that. That's how this is going to work.”

   “Yeah yeah, whatever. You drop me where you want me and I'll bring back your man.”

\---

   It's night, the carrier is high in the sky, cloaked and quiet. Tracer was at the helm, along with Athena guiding them to their location. Along with Reaper, their company was sparse between Mercy, as the logical medical professional, and D.VA, who meka-less was simply there for moral support. Too much needed to be watched over at the base itself. At least Winston trusted his control device over ghost, but in all honestly, betrayal at this time was far away from his mind. Like a dog, he was so mission focused, it nearly gave Hana whiplash to how his personality spiked into such a formidable and frightening opponent. Not for them, at least. Mercy, however, is disheartened to see how much this side of Reaper reminded her of Reyes.

   “We are at the drop zone, allow me to lower the mini-carrier to a reasonable distance.”

   “Don't bother, you'll blow cover. I can jump from here.”

   “We are cloaked and invisible to the naked eye, agent Reaper.”

   “Uhg, don't say it like that. Just turn off this thing and let me fly, and stay up here. I can bring him back up without you landing like a giant, shoot me to death blimp.”, he stares out the window, bickering with an uncaring AI. But she doesn't refuse, staying airborne at the current height. It wasn't as if they're in the clouds, but he can hear Tracer complain about not being able to open the door here. “Don't open the door. “, he shouts back,” Just dial down your little petbox here and I'll just... god damned go down. “

   There isn't a lie here, he desperately needs to be able to shift if he's going to make this work at all. Winston let information slide earlier that there was even a setting for that- where he could shift, but the collar would stick and he could still be pacified- but that it was preferred at first he would be unable to escape any bonds or doors they would set up. It's all controlled by Athena now, and it's the AI's discretion on how his leeway works.

   A bark was perking up from his throat while he waited for an answer, but it stops short when he can /feel/ the thing release him. It's going on now, then. He catches a startled noise from his sleep over buddy as he projects through the floor of the mini-carrier, feeling the wind and cold break through his body as he falls. Damn, monkey wasn't lying. He could feel the collar still clicking against his neck, working off the rest of his suits technology adeptly. It could theoretically still shock and freeze him at any time, and he would be coloured surprised if the scientist hadn't put tracking in it as well.

   I'll figure you out yet, device. Can't read my mind. The ground greets him quick enough, a mass of dark fog that blends in beautifully with the shadows of the alleys; it’s empty for now but he can /feel/ the life brimming beyond doors and corners. Behind the doors can live, for now, but those who linger these streets will be facing a pent up wrath, rage. Worse than usual- but, in the same thought, restricted. Not everyone can be on the list tonight.

   Reaper knows where to go from here, mapping in his mind easily laying out the clustered streets. At least, if his target hadn't moved or been moved since his last message, when Winston told him they were coming. The last message seemed a bit hastier, he could tell, as he perused the subject matter beforehand. Hopefully enough he wouldn't be wasting his time for a corpse. As much as he salted earlier about the others lack of conviction in being able to handle himself, rereading the files made the ghost remember this kid from Talon. He is a true, true pain in the ass. Very capable of not dying, and stealing all of your shit. Working by yourself however, cost one a great deal of energy, and his young age could only keep the musician's stamina afloat for so long. He was a normal, human man. Now he would be Reaper's normal human man.

   AaaaaahhhHHH yessss. He smelled fear as he rounded the street, having herded and planned his attack while he thought. They could only hide for so long, and while a brush of bullets assaults his form from the remaining startled human, the wraith eats them with a slow, guttural laugh. He was so hungry. You are so insignificant. I can smell the blood on your hands, child, you can't pray now like you're innocent, like you've done nothing wrong. It's not personal, and I'm not the devil- but it probably feels like it. There's two bodies at the gang man's feet, felled by shotguns, but him as the pitiful remaining would get a special touch.

   A hand wraps around the trembling man's neck, the coward warbling softly in Spanish as the skull forces unseen eye contact. Reaper speaks back in their native tongue, clicking a note of pity before, “~ Ah, look at you. Like you didn't know you would die here, like the dog you are. Take your fate with more class.~” Caressing the underside of the other mans jaw with a claw, he grew and cultivated his fear so he could feast upon its full depth.

   He is interrupted by a clipping in his ear, “Agent Reaper.” He tries to ignore it, but she insists. “Keep moving, Reaper, or I will be forced to dismiss you.”

   No fun allowed, apparently. The wraith snaps forward, between his mask, and bites into /something/, with his teeth, his captor weakly screaming as he pulls said invisible mass from the limping body. When it’s free and ripped from the now loose mass, Reaper tosses him aside like trash, turning on heel to continue to his destination. Fine, fine. This was his one day out, and he didn't... really want to muff it up? No matter how hungry he was. There was always more scared boys to eat. While he brushes past the corpses that remained, clawed gauntlets scoop down to drag the black wisps of their soul remains into his form, opting to simply waft them into his trailing non-corporal legs.

   So far, all who heard word of him ran with tails between legs at thought of the devil, or, in some cases, higher level members who actually knew who he was... or, sort of knew who he was. Talon wasn't the kind of facility to spread out their name, but he'd done enough work, and he had niche enough mechanics the stories could only be about him. When he found himself at the pickup spot, his audiophile host was nowhere to be found. Blood in the corner, but, three unconscious fellows with bleeding ears. Good sign. Weirder of a sign, however, was the two corpses /outside/ of the building, with bullet holes. Boy didn't use a bullet weapon. The ghost clicks into his comm, sighing, “It's just me and the pickup, right? Because, I have some misplaced bodies with bullet holes, and that means someone uninvited is here.”

   Mercy replies after a short moment, “You are correct, no one else should be there with you. Maybe one of the gang members got cold feet and is helping instead?”

   “It rarely works like that. I'd far more suspect unrelated outside help... mnn, actually... aaahhh.... these look like pulse ammunition rounds.. Nevermind, I know who it is.”

   “What? Who?”

   “Just never mind, it won't be a problem. It might actually help, if he doesn't just start shooting me immediately. We've gotten off on the wrong foot before, but it looks like we're both on the same side this time. If he doesn't leave to reason, I'll just grab the kid and meet you up top.”

   Soldier 76, eh. Well, at least, he was fairly sure of this. Seen from videos and from decently afar, the soldier took great pride in being a 'one man army'. The kind of man that would show up bleeding on your doorstep to demand you let him inside. The kind of man he could appreciate, in concept alone. How he wanted to kill him before, and honestly, still, but today was an unlikely day. Not a gang member, off limits. Winston would probably want him to attempt to recruit the idiot- but there was no way begging the trigger happy to follow with him, to a group he absolutely fucking despised, would be part of the deal. He would never commit a crime as to advocate such a beautiful creature of destruction he was to the fanciful feats of /Overwatch/.

   Solidifying, his boots clunk the approach as an small indicator to his 'friendly' demeanor as he followed the odd little skid marks on the ground, like heated metal skates, and drips of blood to indicate a second set of steps. Not chasing, but walking beside, a good sign. Well... not the blood. At least it seemed like the kid wasn't bleeding, just a stupid old man, if the ghost's lucky.  
The noise he provides is unfortunately used against him violently instead of favorably, and the ghost is greeted around the corner with said pulse rifle pressed into his skull. Not amused, he deflects it with an open hand, but silently remarks on how easily it shifts from his head, firing accidental rounds into the wall behind them. The reasoning is clear when he turns his head, and the old man looks simply perforated in the dark. His biotic fielding glitters softly on the ground below from its centerpiece, but it wears thin before some of the injuries can cure.

   Reaper stops. And /sighs/, head rolling back in an exaggerated message of exasperation. “Ha, big hero, look at you, full of holes. Where's the kid.”

   “I'm not telling you shit.”, he chokes out, leaning against the wall in a desperate bid to keep himself standing.

   Reaper gives him the gift of malicious laughter, reaching over to grasp at the soldiers jacket front and lifted him. His other hand becomes occupied with removing his rifle before he can even /accidentally/ fire again, and to the end, damn he won't go down easily... but either the man is unusually weak, or Reaper is feeling terribly strong; he tears the weapon away, clacking loudly to the floor. “You can tell me, and make this easy, or you can die and I can find him anyways. You should know that.”, why are you still threatening, you aren't fighting him... but old habits die hard. His tone changes, “Or don't die, actually, I can offer that for once.”

   “I'd rather just die, 'actually', since I know who you work for and, I'm not interested.”, nodding up at him, the wraith can tell he wants to spit in his face, but he's fortunately enough, muzzled.

   “You don't actually know who I work for.”

   “Talon.”

   “Nope, got... trrrraded.” , yeah, traded. Not captured. Not forced into weird slavery. He lifts the man down enough that he isn't on his tippy toes anymore, but the soldier isn't solid on his own feet, so the ghost settles for holding him while they chat, while he continues bleeding to death.

   “Bullshit. “, Reaper can feel the growing weakness in his captive, though it doesn't necessarily.. /feel/ like the weakness of death, just tired, so he keeps taking his time. “Kids in a safe house, long gone from here. You aren't getting anything here- no.”, the statement ends early as he feels the grasp of his enemies glove clack against his visor and pull. “It doesn't just /come off/, that would be stupid...?”

   “I'm willing to bet it would break off...”

   “What, you need to see my face when I die? You think you're gunna see some scared, old fool?”

   “Mn, I'm really hoping I don't. Can you really blame me for being curious?”, he's fumbling with the interface, clicking latches gently. It's a weird subconscious instinct, for some reason, the want, and desire to see his face. A quiet voice telling him to do so. He doesn't even hear the AI quip in his ear for a report, but she isn't threatening to 'dismiss' him this time so it's not dire to respond too.

   There's no part of him ready to respond to anything anymore, now. It slips off once he figures out the mechanism, the slowing man making no attempt to stop him after a point. What he finds is, a /tired/ old man, and he's nowhere near scared. A scar bisects his face, much like Reyes' own, and another through his lip. They're familiar scars. He remembers seeing his face like this, once. A dead man’s face- an ACTUAL dead man’s face. You, you were literally supposed to be dead. In the ground. At least, in a retirement home, in the mountains, living in solitude. Not getting shot in a dark alley like a stray that bites. You old, pitiful, STUPID fool.

   “What? Cat got your tongue? You all shut up now, seeing a normal human giving you a run for your money, all these years?”, a weak punch assaults his midsection when the ghost stares silently just a little too long.

   “You're /not/ a normal man, Jack.”

   The soldier swallows hard. “What?”, but before he can really collect his newly thumping heart, Reaper looks to the sky at... something, and the world inverts itself on him. Cold and unforgiving, it strips his lungs of the oxygen they were already suffering in lack of- and when he tries to inhale again, it stinks and burns thick in his chest. The pain of his lingering wounds settles to dull throbbing for the moments it takes for them both to reorient into existence, and he topples to the floor with a solid thunk and a cry of pain while it all returns- coughing and rolling onto his back.

   “FIX THIS.”

   “ What, this isn't- Reaper, where are you go-”

   “I'm not done yet. Fix this.”

   The soldier can't see properly, his visor seemingly discarded, but he's out of time anyways. His head settles backwards to the hard floor, to sleep. What's going to be, is going to be. He'll have no regrets about it,

\---

   He reappears in the same place he left, promptly speeding in the direction of scored floor skate marks. It's definitely his man, and now, he's in a rush. Genuine relief aids him when he finds trails of injured instead of remaining enemies to block his way, but eventually his trail runs cold- like the target slipped into a wall and disappeared... Or, like he... crawled up the wall. Skated. Skated up the wall. Looking up, he can see the very faded marks on the buildings, bouncing structure to structure before disappearing into, ahaaaa, an open window. God, he was glad no one else was observant, but in all honestly, that was quite the trick. Goons weren't known to look up, in his experience.

   The ghost slips shadows into the room, his ears greeted by soft music thumping into the floorboards. Though he was trying not to frighten him, it was a lost battle; injured on the floor he obviously startled when the dark lines from the moonlight shift into solid form. Weapon prepping, Reaper gestures passively to stop him long enough to talk.

   “Wait, kid, stop, Overwatch, just, sit the fuck down.”, blah, it still felt gross to say.

   “What?”, he slaps his laptop shut, sitting defensively over a hastily packed box of equipment.    

  “Man we were running from you! Why you get off looking so spooky, and I told him you weren't shooting but he was dead serious thinking you weren't the good guy. “

   “I'm here on behalf of Winston, and Tracer. Is that good enough for you?”

   “ ....Where'd that guy go?”, tilting a head around, he peers towards the window to the open air.

   “Up. Where you will be, in a minute here.”

   “In a minute? Wait- wait wait wait-”, the audiophile whaps at his claws when he approaches, one hand still clung to the box beneath him. “I need to bring my gear with me! “

   “Did you tell that to Winston.”

   “Yeah! I mean, I kind of did. But I can't just go rebuilding a lot of this stuff.”

   “I know. Because you stole it.”, Reaper clips into his comm again, huffing, “Nevermind, I do need you to land, Athena. He has, a massive box of garbage, and he probably needs it. Tell me where you're going to be and it won't take more than a minute.”

   “It's not just like that! I mean, I stole the base stuff, but I've reworked a lot of it... Who? Wait, who are you talking to...”, the ghost ignores his rambling, beckoning him to stand with a forceful grip yanking him from the part of his suit around his chest. Pressing Lucio towards the window they both came in from, he grabs the box with ease, none to gently heaving it into his possession. “Man I /just/ told you that stuff is important, can you not toss it around.”

   “Situation seems like you can have it a little roughed up, or not at all. Time is of the fucking essence.“

   “Alright, alright!”, he slips out the window, sliding down it with a glowing trail of green- but landing a little harder than Reaper would've like to see. He's beside him shortly, using his mist to catch the weight of the box without smashing it. It isn't mentioned, but Lucio will remember for later that, he did actually start being more gentle when he asked.

   “You're limping.”, he leads, but looks back enough times to see his falter in his skid every right step.

   “What, you think I just let the other guy take all the guff? I just got tackled is all, it's in the mechanics of my suit.”, he gestures to the mechanical suit legs, obviously straining and scratched at the side. Neat little pants those were.

   “Good, because he's full of holes so I'm sure the doc will be plenty busy without you too.”

   “Ah- I mean man like, he wasn't that bad when he told us to split up!”, he gets frantic when Reaper implies he left the man for dead, “ And he didn't want to take no for an answer.”

   “Yeah, I know, I know, he's a huge pain in the ass. There.”, there's a break in the air, bending light but nearly unseeable in the sky, but they both can feel the pressure of jets and heat when the mini-carrier descends before them. Lucio jumps when the door breaks free of its illusions, greeted by Hana waving them on violently. Still startled by the occurrence, it takes Reaper physically pushing towards the grumbling metal hulk before the audiophile blasts his ass on board, and with them sealed inside, Tracer pushes it into the atmosphere like a bat out of hell. It unfortunately leaves all standing now on the floor, sliding all sort of sideways before the speed can equalize. The ghost laughs when he hears Angela swearing from a curtained off back room, but shuts it when he remembers why she’s back there in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i always feel like i'm stealing ideas from other fics but i guess everything is common ground on the internet.


	5. ch5(ok time i guess)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> invasive medical procedures, courtesy of reaper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i was eventually supposed to rename this to something other than heck but after five chapters i still don't have shit for idea, please someone help. or it can just be heck. forever.

 

 

   In true musician fashion, Lucio plays the eager Hana and Tracer a few choice tunes. She wasn't lying earlier then she told the group that Lucio's music was known to be magical. The soft beat rumbles from his discarded speaker backpack nearby, droning into the metal ship framing. As it turned out, Lucio was a fan of D.VA and her gaming and movie exploits also, so the silence to the start of the ride home was broken by rambunctious chatter. It gave Reaper mental occupation to not go to the back and bother Dr. Ziegler while she was working. His brain wasn't letting him stress properly about it, opting to disassociate in the corner. The two younger sit on the floor by a table, Lucio's legs splayed out and tired.

   The ghost catches Tracer ask Athena to do some diagnostics before they set into autopilot for the rest of the hour’s journey, and can feel the idle scan slip its way across the cabin.

   “The mini-carrier is untouched, and while reports of Agent Reaper are high, none are recorded visually, and none are on the carrier itself. Counts on board are, 2 Injured, 3 Healthy, 1 Unknown... I don't mean to intrude, but Lucio, you are injured.”

   He blinks, looking down to his scrapped up arm. Road rash, but nothing deadly. “What this? Ah man, nah, this is nothing.”, his new friend had wanted to do something about it earlier, but he insisted the best medicine would be from his tunes, and his suit still strapped to his legs.

   “Not that, no, you've taken a bullet.”

   All eyes are on him- looking about a moment to find the unseen wound. Hana inspects him more closely, visibly confused, but is moved out of the way when Reaper fades down from his far away chair perch. “Your leg, the knee.”, bringing up the previous injury they'd thought before was only impact damage on the suit itself.

   “Oh now I get it. The biotic fielding in my legs, it's still on. “, the male leans back, awkwardly shifting clips to remove his metal pants- the ghost all but pushing Hana away to inspect. He can see and smell it now, it hadn't quite seeped through before, but there's the chipped paint and bent metal now, the blood dripping from beneath. “Shit, I thought it was just pressin' on my leg funny. Man, wish it didn't just kill the pain like that. Hope it hasn't healed over the metal too badly.”

   A clawed glove wiggles its digits into the hole of the knee framing, feeling exactly how the bullet penetrated, but Lucio takes it a next step forward, and inelegantly pushes himself free of the metal casing. Thank god for the long tights he wore underneath, but the girl still giggles nervously and looks away at the sight of the man undressing, even if just for a joke. He's suppressing nervous laughter too now, when the scariest thing he's seen his whole life sets to ripping the black under material before his knee.

   It's not the worst. But it's a bullet hole, alright. They could interrupt the doctor, who is occupied by a much needier patient, or, they can figure this out themselves. Hana and Athena(and Tracer, from the pilot seat), advocate for a doctor. Lucio, the new and unimposing new guy, and Reaper, think they're good to handling it themselves. He has a biotic field and magic healing beats. They just have to... get the bullet out.

   “I’ve pried a bullet out before! It's gross and it hurts like a bitch, but not hard. “, the audiophile insists.

   “It’s right near the surface. Your gear took the brunt of the impact, and the shrapnel just slipped under the skin. “

   “See! It's good, we're good. If you're gunna be on the field, you need to learn to do some real field medicine, right sister?”

   “Uhhggg it’s gross enough you have had to do this before! My thinking is, you're in Overwatch, we have doctors for this.”, she tries to pry her logic into the two of them, but it falls short to the ears of the more field experienced ghost.

   “I can tell you, in one hundred percent god damned honesty, that being in Overwatch never has, and /never will/ free you from field medicine. This is /normal/, kid.”, the ghost looks down at him, expression unseen behind his mask. “Alright... do you trust me?”, he's speaking to Lucio, completely not owed any trust.

   “ You know, with that getup, I feel obligated to say no- but you got my ass once already, so sure, why the heck not. “, his head weakly looks up from its lay on the floor, him splayed with the injured leg raised in the air by the kneeling beside him Reaper. “ .. D.VA's got smaller fingers then you though, man, look at your claws. Please don't tell me you're about to stick those big claws right up into my meat.”

   “No, but if I told you what I plan on doing, you'll definitely say no.”, the comment seethes in comedic malice, him brushing the cold metal of his gauntlets against the wounded’s skin.

   The metal floor clunks as Lucio rests his head back down, “Then I ain't askin'.”

   Reapers hidden gaze settles on Hana now, staring in wide eyed wonder. “You sure you wanna watch?”

   “No! But I'm going to.”, not that she hasn't seen injuries before, but she knew that it would always be more interesting with her new creepy friend around.

   “ … Fine. I don't care.”

   With a free hand, he reaches up to unclip his mask once more, freeing his face... And only his face, she would notice, as the black shroud behind his hood covers up any prying gazes to beyond his eye line, like a perfect creepy portrait. His eyes are a stark black now, iris red and glowing- the scars on his face are more intact, but only in the fact they aren't immediately falling apart. They two main ones are very much still there, and when he crinkles his nose it shows off his, oddly sharp looking, molar teeth. Hana takes literally all her effort not to grimace and look away, or to say anything incriminating. The task becomes harder as the seconds pass- and he lowers his face to the wound, prodding and squeezing it with the hand that held the leg afloat, before wrapping his mouth around it.

   “Ohhh shit man that's cold as FUCK, what are you doing..!?”- he leans to look up, but the girl slaps a hand over his face and presses him down again.

   “Nurse D.VA says it's baaaad to look at yourself get worked on and boy, this is not something you want to see!”

   “It doesn't hurt?”, his spine shudders as he feels the leg numb substantially from the base off the wound, like it was being infested by a cold, moving injection. He can feel the pressure of the prying, but its short lived. The chilly aftermath continues, however, and it's starting to feel a bit more like tiny, icy bugs under his skin.

   When he pulls back, he snakes a tongue out to let the bullet drop to the floor beside them, face wet with blood; but not completely sitting up before blowing a jet of black fog onto the wound as a final touch.

   It is then, of course, when Mercy steps out from behind the curtained off area and exclaims at the group with complete exasperation, weapon in hand and outfitted for her methods.

   “What, WHAT are you DOING? Is that blood? Is- oh, your … your face...?” the fire in her chiding dies down with a crack of her voice, gaze settling upon the blood stained thing before her. He supposed his visage looked both better and worse than last time; holding itself together, but blending black and dead at its ends. It only catches her for a long moment, and she persists when they all sit in sheepish silence before her, “Reyes, what are you doing, did you /bite him?/ “, and he can't blame her, it looks like that. In a proper defensive mode, she stomps down to push herself between them, pressing down on his chest with the Caduceus staff as the ghost attempted to mosey on out of her way. “ Athena, what are you /doing?, Tracer, /Hana/?”, she watches as the ghost leans backwards, face still visible, eyes rolling in completely dismissal of her ranting. Shouldn't it be obvious he wasn't doing anything the AI deemed as wrong, since he was grabbing at the weapon stabbing him in the ribs instead of writhing on the floor in pain. Not to mention, the poor human he'd graced with his disturbing kiss of death, laying on the floor, embarrassed and continuing to be injured. Still gripping it, he roughly pushes the staff away in silence, and slips past her to grab at that wounded leg of Lucio's, squeezing the injury. It does exactly what he wants it to, the man crying in pain, to grab the attentive doctor’s mind.

   “Dude, what the hell? “, leaning up, he takes a look at Reapers face around Angela's legs, frowning, “.. aight, no wonder you wear a mask, what the- did you put your MOUTH on my BULLET WOUND. That's messed up.”

   “It worked though, so-”

   “What, bullet wound?”, she whips around, immediately mother-moding the man on the floor.

  “Oh, why didn't you just tell me, I would have...”

   “I mean yeah, I know, I trust you!”, arms raise defensively, himself conscious and growing weary. “But I just feel really bad about the guy who saved my ass, like, he was rough, right?”, he squints when she inspects the injury, passing her staff on the absolutely embarrassed and silent Hana. It was more of a surface skin and 'keep going' answer to problems on a battlefield, and she'd far rather stitch this up manually. She can already see where his biotic fielding repaired unusually around the foreign metal- but more irritably, when it was re-lacerated and infected by a strange, black goo.

   “The.. man, the man is fine, Lucio, he is much less injured then you seem to think... And Reyes. This can't be sanitary.” She is, of course, mentioning the fluid she wipes and squeezes between her fingers, inspecting the viscous and, slowly evaporating nature of it.

   “It is, and don't /call me that/.”, the mask clicks back onto his face, him leaning to stand and remove himself from the situation again. “I’ve done it before. I don't usually have to use my /mouth/, but with this /collar/, I couldn't get my hands to do it. So, your bad on that one.”, he waves his hand dismissively,” Don't usually take the time to make it not hurt, though. That was ~new.~”, hissing the last part, it comes out sarcastic and fake, but he obviously meant to do it the way he had. “Mission specs, and all.”

   “And I am thankful for that, man. Please, french kiss my wounds all you want if you keep that up.” They can both, Mercy and Reaper, tell the audiophile is getting woozy at this point; so the ghost doesn't take that comment to heart or mind. Opting to work on the floor instead of attempting to move him now, the doctor beckons Hana to grab her blanket from one of the emergency shelves while she went to grab an actual antiseptic and surface anesthetic.

   When she returns and starts working on him, top half gently wrapped in a blanket, Lucio thinks to whisper her a question. “Yo, ok, do I trust the black coat guy or not? D.VA seems to like him but you look an awful touchy 'bout him feelin' me up.”

   Mercy thinks long about her response, but he's patient. “I.. I actually, don't have an answer for you. It's a very long story. He won't hurt you, or anyone here, for now. “

   “... Yeah alright, you seem really cool ma'am so I'll trust whatever you do. Always trust the doctor, right?”

   “Hah, yes... you can always trust me.”

   Reaper would be very glad he couldn't hear that, day dreaming from his far off perch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you tell i'm a grown adult without a job just writing stories in the middle of the night
> 
> this one is short and very self indulgent @3@;;;


	6. ch6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> emotions are dumb and hard! my boyfriend doesn't recognize me and also, i want to kill him. where is a home??? chases own tail into eternity

   It was a glorious arrival in the wee hour mornings on the watch point in Gibraltar. Angela relished in the distraction that Lucio provided(when she asked very nicely if he would make himself very distracting.), slipping her wounded mystery man into the medbay with not so much of a fuss. Her secretive mood would not dissuade the eldest and largest of them, however, and she stressed to keep the other German out until she was true and ready to bring back /ANOTHER/ ghost. He opted to stay close at hand, offering her multiple times that his ear was always open, before settling to deal with other matters Mccree and Genji had been up too while the other group was absent.

   Reaper would not be kept outside, however. She could only preen the injured man for so long before weakness would take her as well, and thinking that after hours and hours with not even a peep from the ghost, she would be safe to take a good few hours rest without leaving any guard. He had to give her credit where it was due, however, as the main office door was nearly a no-go; the doctor is propped up in her desk chair, draped in a blanket, but blissfully unconscious. It was a good thing he was very, very good at silent shadow sneaking, but also that the poor woman was exhausted.

   Something about the sight in front of him was familiar. Maybe it was the medical decor itself, but it was more likely he'd seen this stranger/friend prone like this before, possibly in this exact bed. It danced memories over his vision, the black of night from the window nearby in reality broken by the afternoon sun of what had been before... maybe. If there was something he was coming to the conclusion to in these past weeks under the pressing thumb of Overwatch, was that long term memory was no longer a strong suite. At least, not parts like this. Not scoured by hatred or bitterness. A bubble of worry in his gut. He'd never thought about it as Talon, or any other contracts he'd even taken in the mission to end his current captors, the memory blanks. There was too much focus on the task as hand; but here, in the 'care' of Overwatch, he was free to elaborate on the memory loss. For once, it wasn't aching him the usual way, and the ghost grasped at the feeling while he could.

   There was an assumption in his mind it was because it was Morrison, and it wouldn't do his cultivated hatred any well to forget his main adversary, even if he'd been presumed dead all these years. An original flame to stoke at when the time needed it. Reaper wasn't about to go through the entire details in his head on the apparent psychosis, instead taking to focusing on the literal visuals before him. Asleep, from the drugged drip placed precariously in his arm. Tucked gently into his floating cot, the thrum of it setting the beat of the room with computer beeps and clicks to create an unusual rhythm. It brought as much anxiety as it brought comfort. A tube links under his nose, extra oxygen the ghost supposed, face framed with sleepless nights dark around the eyes. The scars bisecting his face so much like his own, it's as if they perished to the same shrapnel. Ah yes. They had, hadn't they?

   -At least you can't see your teeth- Reaper has closed the distance now, clawed hand hovering over the sleeping others face in feigned affection. There's a barely contained urge to smother him while he dreams, as well. Emotionally bisected, like our scars, Jack. Instead, he curls his hand backwards, brushing a line down his primary scar with the back of an index finger, across the nose and down.

   It's startling to the both of them when his eyes flick open at the cold metal stimulus. Reaper's breath chokes to silence immediately, stepping backwards just as mutely. Back pressing against the window, it blots a huge hole in the moonlight, but he remains and waits.

   The bedridden takes and inordinate amount of time to do much of anything, sitting, blinking and, as the shadow catches on, /listening/. In an impatient and curious move, he finally deigns to exhale a fake breath- and it catches the listener’s attention. Turning his head, the soldier tilts enough to 'face' him with the closest ear, but his eyes are cast blank towards a nearby wall.

   “That’s a set of lungs you got there.”, mumbling, it's obvious he's still caught by the painkillers and sleep wooziness, but there's no indicator he's worried about his bed intruder.

   “I don't need to breathe.”, his reply is terse and salty, as if he wasn't the awkward one of the situation.

   “But you did. You just exhaled.”

   “You weren't looking at me.”              

   “Hmn, well, I hate to break your heart. But I still ain't looking at you. Are you doing something? You aren't moving from what I can tell.” … Reaper shifts from the window, and the removed shadow catches his attention on the blanket, as the moonlight shifts onto his bedframe. “Ah, thought the doc had just drawn the curtain or something. “

   “What, is your night vision that fucked?”

   “My... everything vision is fucked..? What, did Talon really not notice? Wouldn't take you or them for piss poor observation skills.”, he squints, facial expressions still in his mental memory, “Mmn, never mind, I would.” Settling claws down on the blankets, the ghost rakes them nervously into the fabric as he leans and pushes himself into the perceived line of vision for the other man. Closing the gap between the faces until it is painfully close. “ … Yeah, I can still feel how close you are to my face. “

   “... Huh.” That was, the most curious thing to him, in the moment. He's sure he'll mourn the loss of it later, but right now he was quite stuck being Reaper, and not the Reyes who might give a damn. “How are you such a good shot...?”

   “Cheating. “, he taps his temple, a visual cue to the visor he'd be more commonly seen with. He knew that it gave Soldier76 a terrifying advantage, but he wouldn't have guessed it was the primary attribute to all his success on the field. “Lots of experience in my life before Talon too, that helps.”, the thought of the past seems to catch the back of the old soldiers throat, but it sets a fire in the ghost.

   “I know who you were, /Morrison/. “

   “Yeah yeah, the doc spilled the beans pretty fast. I'd ask why she'd have to go and tell you, a prisoner, anything, but I bet you snooped it out like the piece of trash you are.”

   “Awfully /mean/ thing to say to my face, when I could strangle the life out of you right here and now.”

   “ Oh no, aaaaall the beans got spilled.", he points an accusing finger," I know exactly why you're here now, too, and I know that with the AI here, you're stuck like a pig in a pen.” Wow, he did not miss those absolutely terrible farmer boy sayings. How he hadn't managed to grow out of that was, obscene to him. Oh, wait, there he goes again, remembering; Reaper startles the injured when he shakes out his whole body like a dog, rumbling and clacking backwards from their blind stare-off. Morrison puts it up to irritation due to his aforementioned force Overwatch servitude and not a weird mental battle. “Doc couldn't quite figure out why you pulled me out of there to save me, though.”

   “Mission.”

   “No, that was the kid. You coulda left me to die, wouldn't have mattered.”

   “I know it would have, there's a list and you were on it. Don't shit on me with your emotions when I just want to keep my own ass out of the fire.”

   “Dying scratches you off a list, too.”, the man seemed incapable of taking no for an answer, trying to force some kind of empathy from the growing shadow.

   “Hey, they didn't kill me, so why shouldn't you suffer this fate with me. You can't be on board with Winston's, ahem, 'plan'.”

   “No, I'm not. “, the man reclines, letting his eyes shut again. “ I wanted to know what happened behind the scenes, behind my back before Overwatch went down, but I never wanted to bring it back up. It's outta my-.. our hands now, isn't it.”

   “Overwatch has this nasty habit of being out of my hands.”

   “Is that right?”, weariness is taking him again, voice growing soft in the moonlight. “ … If you're gunna stick around, pull up a chair or something.”

   “What makes you think I'm gunna stay.”

   “Just a hunch.”

   Morrison was always a good guesser when it came to him, even if he didn't seem to know yet.

     ----

   Four, four times now, she went to check on the only man in the infirmary, and Reaper is continually returning to bothering him. Jack doesn't seem to verbally mind much, one time in the night she catches the ghost face down in the foot of the bedsheets, Morrison with his feet propped up on his unconscious torso with the greatest amount of humor. The smell and poor air quality the ghost produces while unconscious would not stand in her hospital however, especially with how poorly the old man’s lungs were handling unfiltered air while he recovered. It didn't matter what the both of them seemed to think- and at some point she's sure they're teasing her on purpose, and it reminded her far too terribly of the past. From what she could tell- Morrison still had no idea who Reaper was, and was simply going along with his stalker-ish tendencies for lack of anything better to do during his stay. It terrified her how easy going he was being about it, and was making up for it by becoming completely neurotic about it herself.

   Most recently, it's taken an /angry/ Fareeha to frighten away the ghost without the usual wordy argument between Angela and himself. Reaper wanted to be surprised at how scary she could be with calm words and simple posturing- but then he remembered her mother, and her childhood, and...well. It made him slink out of the bay like a dog with his tail between his legs.

   When Jack heard her speak in irritation, however, he rose from his slumber in a fog of confusion. He nearly fell out of the bed to clamber towards the group, Reaper barely out the door, blindly feeling through the curtain to at least pretend to look at them. “...Ana?”

   It takes their attention away from the sheepish ghost instantly, and Angela turns and flees to steel him before he topples, cursing and crooning in German for him to sit back down.

   ”Ahh, oh, do I sound that much like my mother...?”, her voice wavers at the thought of her lost mother, lost to the four of them, still moving to offer the doctor a hand with the wobbly soldier.

   Even though he's rid of her fury he makes the mistake of speaking out of turn again, “Aw, look at that, you're going to make an old man cry for dead ghosts.” He's forever glad his face is obscured by a mask, invisibly emoting regretting his statement drowning in hypocrisy, and it catches her good and angry enough again to whip around and give him a /very/ solid punch to the arm. It's astonishing how much it stings, but he laughs, “Oo, yeah, you do sound like your mother. You feel like your mother, too, except she liked aiming for the face.”, his hands gestures towards the aforementioned face, nearly inviting her, but she catches herself when he continues to shrink towards the door.

   “I could grant you your wish. You were leaving, yes? Or I could lock you back into your room again. Visit Hana, she misses her favourite /dog/.”, like hellfire, or at least like an over protective sibling, who was quite done with seeing her Mercy dealt with mercilessly.

   Reaper can't laugh through a comment like that- but neither wanted to be locked in his room or punched in the face, he continues his leave. He would've thought that the young Amari would have had her conversation with Jack already. At least he wasn't the only one procrastinating, even though he had the absolute most reason to never, ever tell him.

     ----

   Hana is in a makeshift common area with Lucio, him being on forced 'bedrest' until his leg healed, and her being more than willing to give him any hand he needs. It smells like dust and old, three brown stained couches haphazardly placed in a square around each other. There's a table in the middle, and a vidscreen on the wall- he doubts they get channels anymore- and the light above flickers with irritating pulses. She's elated to see Reaper when he enters, for reasons completely beyond his comprehension- but even more so when the man greets him as well with open arms.

   At the moment they're watching Hana play some sort of game on her laptop, something cheesey and simple, and after some wordy coercion they scoot over and convince the ghost to plop down beside. What else was he doing with his time? He had free reign of this wing now, under the watchful 'eyes' of the roaming AI, and the ghost wasn't about to let them know that 'hallway pass' wasn't even sort of on the list of why he'd just done their dirty work days earlier. A warm feeling in his core reminded him of his motivation, and that warm feeling was boosting his patience as well. Not that the girl really bothered it terribly- but the new kid would have to prove his worth.

  “Yo, man, see, now you /gotta/ play a real game. You ever seen her actually play something that isn't one of these point and clicks?”, he's still sounds a bit tipsy on painkillers, but legible enough.

   “No, but I know enough. “, admittedly, he was very curious. It was her career in 'gaming' that started her absolute nosedive into fame and fortune.

   “I told you! This laptop is trash, I can't do anything on it unless I turn the settings all off, and it looks terrible, and I'm just... not about that life.”, the thing did look old and terrible. Like she'd pulled it out of an Overwatch waste bin on site- and yeah, she probably did.

   “What, couldn't fit your own gear into a carry-on?”, the ghost chimes in, tapping a claw against the old screen.

   "For your information, /no/”, tearing it away from his damaging fingers,” I couldn't. I didn't get a lot of notice! /I/ didn't get a huge scary coat man to drag my big box of shit to the plane.”, her joke elicits a laugh from Lucio at first, and under him Reaper chuckles as well, leaving them both to give him the most suspicious of looks. “Jesus you are in a good mood. Or a really bad mood, it's hard to tell.”

   “It's both, so you'll never win.”, reclined all to hell now, he barely tilts a masked face towards her and her computer screen, eying Lucio's leg propped up on the desk. It's braced about the knee to prevent bending, but he doesn't look like it's killing him. The headphones around his head are probably helping too; as skeptical as he wanted to be about magic tunes, he wasn't about to cry fake in front of working pseudo-science. Neither of them catch his inspecting, his brain tuned out for a moment while they bickered.

   “Ok, /fine/! One game. That's all you get!”

   “That’s right man! You owe me, I played you my stuff so you gotta return the favour!”

   Reaper wouldn't say he isn't interested in the agreement they've come too, somewhat desperately seeking better distractions to all his current mental predicaments. He could only stare at the two of them for so long. To give her the most room, he leans towards the armrest he resides beside, and turns a head to see the slightly glare-y screen. It isn't a game he's familiar with, still being terribly disinterested in all those things, but it's mentally occupying and flashy.

   Even if it hadn't been interesting before, it sure as hell is when she actually gets into it. It's. Outrageous. Not completely out of the blue- because he /knew/ she would have to be good to get as far as she has at 19, but. No one came to mind at rivaling her response time, even though the screens frame rate wasn't always holding steady. He suspected, even despite her claims, that the girl had been practicing a bit with the handicap- and supposed she did have it already downloaded before being pestered by the overeager audiophile. Maybe, vaguely remembering the music in his mind, she'd even played it before in his room one night.

   It's not hard for Reaper to stay quiet, but he can /feel/ the anxiousness radiating from the somewhat inebriated man across the couch from him. In retrospect he might've brought up the effects of flashing lights and moving pictures on a drug addled mind, but this was funnier. When she finally got through the racer type level, victor and all, they both jump when he squeaks in excitement.

   “It is SO MUCH BETTER in person then it is on stream!”

   “ .. Like, really? You're easy to please.. that was a terrible run! I couldn't /see/ anything half the time-”

   “Are you kidding?!”, he will not be settled, completely enthralled. It was too short lived for the ghost, however, his brain settling to monotony while they prattle on about each other and manage to forget the dead man on the couch for the next hour.

   When the drama finally dwindles down between them and the air of the room settles into the dull hum of the base mechanics, Lucio snuffs the air and /squints/. “ Is it just me, or does it kind of smell like uh... somthin... diiiiiiiied...”, the sentence ends abruptly when he peers over to the black dressed man, feet propped and crossed on the table. It's the familiar fog he's emitting that draws his attention, but it's only familiar to Hana; she turned a head behind her, having since sat lotus to the primary conversation holder.

   “Oh my god you sleep like a fucking baby!”, she exclaims, but in a hoarse whisper, waving hand to settle the excited male to a quiet tone as well.

   “What, are you telling me he /fell asleep/..? Oh man that- why does he /stink/ when he's sleepin'?!”

   “I dunno, I never questioned it and I just got used to the smell. Shit. Here, we can just leave him here, you need to head to bed anyways. I was supposed to put you in bed like an hour ago, Dr. Ziegler would kill me if she saw you up with me still.”, she suddenly remembers all her responsibilities at the sight of her main one sleeping like a blissful anger child, shifting off the couch and, delicately, herding injured one towards his nearby temporary housing.

   “Aww man, you're gunna be my mom now. You should ask him why he stinks when he sleeps next time!”

   “Ok ok, just shhh, don't ruin it you butt! And you bet your ass I'm your mom now, someone's gotta be.”

     ----

   A burning feeling in his hands, in the palm of his hands, greets him in the depth of his 'sleep'. If he can even call it that. He remembers sleep when he felt alive, a true rest with drifting thoughts and dreams. This is plagued with blind feeling, and at its worst, memories. Black and inky like his twisting form beneath his feet. He can feel it now, grasping for something, something he's after, and carrying it away. None of that makes sense, but the guilt of it stabs him through and through his core, and he forces himself to wake through the stress of it; eyes focusing on his clawed hand held outstretched in the blackness of the room instead- glinting lightly from a glow of light beside him.

   “Sounds like you aren't really happy at all.”, his hand is still in the air in front of him, staring while he grounds himself to reality again.

   “ … Neither do you...?”, that was an extremely out of character tone for her, and it piqued his interest away from his own thoughts. Phone in hand instead of her laptop, he tilts his skull face towards her until he caught the light of it, mask glowing white in his thick shadow of black.

   It takes her a long moment of flicking through pictures, legs squished to her chest and wrassled by her own arms, before she replies. “Are you homesick?”

   “... Eh? “, homesick? “ I don't get it.”

   “Do you miss where you came from?”

   “... “, that's an extremely tricky question, but he took some level of trust in her in knowing his response meant nothing to his desires to be in Overwatch, either, “ Talon didn't exactly loan itself to a good feeling.”'

   The response he gives is apparently flabbergasting, and she shakes her head and laughs, blinking out, what he catches now, drying tears under her eyes. “Not that! Where you're /from/, from, like, where you grew up!”

   The tired ghost's head tilts way up now, hood gently sliding back. He takes just as long to reply, “I don't remember. Why are you asking?”

   “You, you were mumbling something it your sleep. I don't know what, it wasn't English. Might have been Spanish? It was like those dumb shows, like, sort of.”

   “I wouldn't think about it too much, kid. “, it's like his 'dreams', black and inky, painful in his mind. He won't, refuses to think about it. “You’re just thinking about yourself.”

   Her phone is still in her hands, a picture in bad resolution of her and a few others nearby. “You got me. The game I played for Lucio, I used to play it a lot at home. “, he thinks about stopping her, uncaring, but doesn't, stuffing his hate back into its closet for the night. “ With my siblings. But we all got important stuff to do now, right?”

   “Mnn, you're too good, too 'nice'. The world will eat you alive.”

   “.. You... You really know what to say, Reaper, just. A champion of words. “

   “I’m not shitting you. If you wanted me to give you a peptalk about familiarity and love, you've come to an extremely poor choice- “, his voice burns with irritation on how she seemingly passes off his advice, but she interrupts him before he gets too far in his chastising

   “No, and I know you're not like that.” , patting his leg, she shifts positions to stare at the ghost, him being still limp and hand stretched forward. “ I went to Dr. Ziegler for the peptalk. But I still felt bad, so I came back here, and I found you mumbling in your sleep like a lost kid, so I wanted to hear what you'd say after that.”

   “Is it everything you would have dreamed it would be.”, so sarcastic.

   “Yeah, you don't bullshit. You're right. Did the world eat you already?” Her chin rests in her palms now, smirking the more normal expression of calm smugness.

   “Can’t eat me if I'm busy eating it.”

   “.. Think it ate you first, man.”

   Silence settles into the room again, but instead of leaving, she opts to ram herself into his cold frame and force his arm back down for her to sit on. Hana was ninety nine percent expecting him to shove her away immediately, if not after a few minutes, but the time passes and he sits, and breaths quietly behind her while she surfs. She jumps when his chest rises enough to speak again, such a quiet rasp escaping him. “...mnn.. Homesick..... When did you go see Angela?”

   “... Uh... Like, about fifteen minutes after you passed out, so about, two and a half hours ago. Why?”

   “Did you see the man in the medical bay...?”

   “Uhh.... mnn..”, she attempts think of a skirt around the answer, but he grips at her thigh to force her honesty. “ .. Yeah. He was talking with someone behind his little secret curtain, but I didn't press, I was just glad she let me into the med bay at all. Gave me some headache medicine.”

   “So you didn't see him.”

   “I saw his dumb legs, but no, I didn't see all of him... You knew him, right? Old friend from Talon or something?”

   “Old friend, not from Talon.... I..”, he's whispering still, and she aches and feels awkward when his voice breaks- but lets him ramble and go out without interruption. It isn't as if she hadn't just pinned him in the same situation earlier. “He’s supposed to be dead.”

   “...He's not looking really dead.”

   “I was supposed to kill him. Guess it didn't stick.”

   “ … Dude, why were you supposed to kill him?”

   “Pride? Jealousy? Maybe. I don't remember.”

   “Are you just going to say you don't remember everything crucial to your tragic backstory.”, she jokes, like he's the obvious stereotype he is.

   “.. Yeah, probably. Got a problem with that.”

   “... A little, but I think it's the problem everyone else will have with that excuse.”

   “If they haven't asked me anything yet, what makes you think they're going to ask now that they have a much more interesting dog to hound.”

   “ … Ok, I need a fill in here. Like, a real life, true to shit fill in, because I feel a lot like I'm literally the only one not getting the full story?”, she turns around again, facing him and serious. “Everyone else knew you before Talon, right?”

   “Not /everyone/, but...yeah. And the guy in the infirmary, too.”

   “Ok, so who were you.”

   There was, no point in keeping the secrets art this point, he guessed. Maybe if she knew, she'd finally turn over and leave him alone, even after this pathetically heartfelt conversation. She stares into the black eyeholes of his mask while he mulls over the options- to turn her down and risk the immediate backlash, or to let it slip and risk a different kind of ire. “They're calling me 'Gabriel Reyes'”, his hands raise, mocking air quotes with his fingers, “ Who is a dead man, one of the old bones of Overwatch. The man in the medbay is Jack Morrison, who is also an old member of Overwatch. Or rather, was the leader. The Strike Commander. 'Reyes',” air quotes, again,” was tasked with Blackwatch, who did the shitty dirty work on the side.”

   “... Oohhh shit.. Ok...”, the information seems slightly overwhelming at first, but she landed in calm town shortly enough. “Why do you say 'Reyes' in the third person, if it's you?”

   “Because I don't much /feel/ much like Reyes. “

   “Then why did you say you were? Are you or not.” Suddenly, he was done with the conversation, and none too kindly rises from his sit. “ Aw come on! We were doing so good... Just, wait, ok! One more minute.”, he stops standing by the door, and waits. “I know Dr. Ziegler told you not to go bother that man, right? But if you think like he's 'home', like that, you should. I give you permission, to go talk to him. Just no killing! Only friendship and emotional pain.”, he regrets it instantly, but turns around to see her giving him the most shit eating grin, and a triumphant fist in the air.

   “ ….. Alright.”, it's toneless, so she isn't exactly sure what he mean by that, but takes it in stride, and he takes his strides out the door.

   She isn't stupid, or under read. The moment he filled that tiny portion of information, she drew the lines together and suffered quietly in the ideas of it. The explosion on the old Overwatch base was a mistake, but her coming 'friend' seemed to think he was a primary holder to the title of killing his close friend. If he isn't lying about it. Her hands clamp against her face, overcome in the darkness and quiet left over. The world will eat you alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this got butchered a bit in drafting, and i've looked it over a couple times now and i think i caught everything, but y'know how it is.
> 
> am i allowed to put links in here? go listen to RED, it's a band that fuels all my ship writing forever and into infinity. listen to shadow and soul if you want what i've been listening too the most to fuel this particular fire.


	7. ch7(good day.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> emotions! the past! my precious daughter! also, hot dick. you could get whiplash from how fast the tone changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the porn has arrived, near the end but taking up most the word count. there's a huge section of what might be considered body horror, so if you don't want to read about fondling organs, skip the paragraph that starts with the word 'curiosity'.

   Permission has been granted, fuck it if it wasn't the 'right' permission. He'll give the doctor some days now to think and rest, but he wasn't going to be kept out for as long as she wanted. Or he hadn't thought he would be; wandering and pacing between hallways uselessly, he comes upon a distantly familiar scene. They don't notice him immediately, but the ghost accidentally brings all eyes when he stops dead in his tracks and stares. Jesse Mccree and Genji Shimada, standing in the hallway and talking. Right outside the medical bay.

   “ .. Are ya'....Just gunna stand there.”

   “ … Yes.”

   “ Are you even supposed to be out and about.”, he gives him a suspicious finger pointing, but knows well enough if Reaper was breaking any rules, someone else more qualified then himself would be doing something about it. So you hope.

   “What, is Overwatch so sparse you don't even get a single memo? How sad.”

   “Hey, man, we were /busy/.” Busy? He thought that the only reason the two of them hadn't come with them on the journey to Mexico was because they were still getting used to the base. There was no way 'getting used to the base' would get in the way of information regarding a 'prisoners' allowed whereabouts. The cyborg hasn't spoken yet, silently taking in the interaction between the two. It was already as uncomfortable as it could be- but the cowboy hadn't completely dismissed him, so he walked the gap between like they were being 'normal'.

   “What, busy polishing a couch with your ass?”

   “I had some... unfinished business to attend, and asked Mccree to assist me, outside the base. It was not Overwatch business.”, colour the ghost impressed that after all these years, the man's Japanese accent still butchered his English.

   “ .. Y'know, at first. Now it is.”, Overwatch business that is, as he runs a hand through his hair, pushing up his hat with metal fingers.

   “ ..Did you kill a man?”

   “N- Reyes, for gods sakes. “

   “Nope, still not answering to that.”

   “And why the hell not. I already told you, you can't go back now.”

   “Watch me. I'm more stubborn then you.”

   “And don't we both know it.”, the cyborg shakes his head, laughing. He sounds more relaxed and contained then Reyes vaguely remembers. At least someone seems to have grown a bit since the catastrophic fall of their company.

   “ …. Your little, 'misadventure' a secret?”, he's pries, out of boredom, and because they're offering to tell him from their tone of voice.

   “What, you curious?”

   “Bored, really. And I like to know things. Old habits.”, he catches himself, the game between them now being denying his history, “ At /Talon/, where I controlled a brigade of soldiers myself.”

   “Aha, oh, of course, 'Talon'. “, Mccree laughs low when his elder hiccups, but lets them both continue to 'play'. “I dunno, /is/ it a secret?”, he turns for confirmation from his cohort, shrugging.

   “If it is now, it won't be later, so... no? We were... actually standing by the door waiting for you, ah, Reaper, was it?”

   “Yeah, you bet it fucking is Reaper. Wait- did the doctor actually hire guard now? You going to make me crawl through the window?”

   “ No, but she said you'd come back eventually, and I just want you to know that there's more than one man in the Medbay now, and that if you fuck with them, I'll kill you myself,”, ahaaa, there, that's the sass he remembers from the mechanical hybrid. The wraith relishes to bring out the 'best' in the assassin.

   He shrugs, dismissing the aggression, “Ah, well aren't you lucky I'm only occupied by one man in there. “, but, he's still curious. “... Who'd you bring in? Another old agent? ”

   “No. Ah... My brother.”, like he said, no point in keeping secrets now. Jesse seems a bit taken aback at how relaxed the other is to say the subject.

   “ … Didn't he kill you?”, Reyes remembers that, distinctly, having himself been one of the main hands in grabbing the obscenely injured young man when he first became living impaired and within Overwatch hands.

   “Yes.”

   “... I don't get it.”

   “I thought you'd understand the sentiment. Why does anyone here keep /you/ around..?”, it's worded like a jab at him, but the tone is soft and unmocking.

   … Yeah, he had him there. But he also had no answer to the cyborgs question. The empathy held for him from the people here he once knew, Reyes and Reaper alike that had hurt them so terribly over the years- but he was relying on it, now, as he glanced to the fogged windows of the office doors. The two 'guards' can tell they've hit a sour note as their previous commander grows deathly silent and introspective, but they let him think through the thoughts to Genji's given inquiry.

   “ … You waiting for him to talk to you, too?”, the inflection in his voice has faltered now, and it reminds Mccree much more again to a Reyes he hadn't heard in too many years.

   “Mn, for now... “

   “Gave him a mighty fine concussion so, I think the heartfelt brotherly talk's gonna get put of hiatus for a little bit.”

   “What did I tell you about killing the man.”, a finger points straight at his face, berating the cowboy.

   “I didn't- I didn't kill him!”

   “I bet you punched him with your robot arm.”, Reyes' guess is apparently accidentally correct, Mccree growing red in the face and Genji breaking into laughter.

   “ He's a famous samurai assassin! He wasn't supposed to just, just LET ME punch him in the head. “

   “It was after a long chase and fight!”, the Shimada breaks in, teasingly, “ He had somewhat given up, but hesitated in leaving with us.”

   “Learned a good lesson from my book, then. Don't wait for them to stab you in the back.” Sagely, the ghost nods at one of his finest teachings taking place.

   “Oh come on, don't make me remember that I'm anything like /you/.”

   “If you weren't anything like me, you'd be dead, little boy.”

   Though his expression was hidden, Genji was cherishing this interaction, arms crossed and still chuckling quietly as they bicker. He'd been just as caught off guard to hear that Gabriel Reyes was 'alive' in the base, and then Morrison shortly after that, but he'd learned quite a bit in going with the flow over the past few years. Such a strange, full body get-up, he'd have to ask him how well he was doing letting his intentions known without his face showing. He'd be glad to show his former commander the tips and tricks to full body expressions, but he wouldn't put it past the angry man to simply not give a damn what people thought.

   “Trust me, 'bossy', I have been getting' on fine without /you/ and your little depression parade.”

   “You look a lot rougher then fine.”, speaking of being expressionless, neither of the two had noticed how much staring he'd been doing between the two while they argued. How dark it was under the cowboy’s eyes. How rough and stiff his mechanical arm was. How the augmentation on his midsection thrummed with excess heat.

   Mccree's nose scrunches when he realizes he's been judged by his self-care habits. It's even worse when he notices that Genji was in near immaculate state. “Alright, /alright/. You aren't even here for me but you're still finding excuses to god damned nitpick me, ya' can't even help yourself.”

   “Excuse me, but I wasn't even here to bother anyone in the infirmary. “

   “Then why did you come here?”, the cyborg speaks again, tilting a head.

   “I was walking by and I heard two idiots I just had to come whip into shape?”

   “I refuse to consider myself 'whipped'.”

   “Yeah well you don't look like the cat dragged you in, so sue me. It's like opposite land. Jesse's all fucked up,” he gives the cowboy a wild gesture, that he replies to with a noise of disgust, “ and you're shiny and new.”

   “Well, a lot has changed, hasn't it? If you would take any of my advice, you won't keep any secrets anymore. It does the soul no good.”

   “Did I ever take anyone's advice?”, he can feel the distaste in his mouth to those words of, 'does the soul no good', like the cyborgs comprehension of the soul was better than his own.

   Genji laughs, shaking his head and slowly falling his gaze to the floor. “No, I suppose you did not.” But the ghost is staring at the door again, leaving the hallway to the pseudo silence of the base. “... Is there a first time for everything...?”, Genji pushes, emulating his old teacher by pushing the subject instead of letting them fester.

   “No, I'm not taking your 'advice'. “, he says, despite tramping towards the office doors. He isn't, really, he isn't listening to his advice; at least not the advice about not keeping secrets. It's more like, why waste time anymore? And a little bit of envy towards his old underling in, apparently, making amends with his long lost brother. You think you can out shadow me in the ability to be a normal, functioning human? Haaaaaah.....

 

–---

 

   He reaches a hand up to pat her shoulder, pausing her from quiet, out loud reading. It's an awkward squish on the twin sized bedframe, but they've made it work; Jack with his arms curled up over his chest and pressed against the cot's single railing, with Fareeha sat all the way up, leg hanging over the edge. 'Guard Duty', but she's being insisted that the ghost would come back- and that this time, Morrison politely requests, they could instead talk more. It's hard to refuse him, her memory littered with the previously blonde man's comforting gaze and demeanor from her childhood. Instead of bleakly standing by the door, gun and posture at the ready, she sheepishly wondered if he'd like to hear some stories to pass the time- seeing as the radio wasn't really the best and TV was out of the question. Her facade of unyielding strength and command fades when he smiles and shifts to offer her a seat on his bed frame, biting her lip to hide her expression he couldn't even see.

   “Mnn, toldja.”

   “I-heh? Told me what?”, she doesn't see it, yet, or feel it rather, like Jack does, when the pressure changes, or the way Reaper's boots tap quietly no matter how hard he tries to step silent. She gets the memo, so to say, when he shifts past the curtain and /sighs/, baring witness to such a display of platonic affection. For a moment she thinks to hastily rise, but settles, giving him a cold stare and letting the book in her hand fall to her lap.

The old soldier gives him a wave, “Not even a day.”

   “It’s been a day.”

   “I don't feel like it has, but what do I know.”, he shrugs, “ I'm not really 'looking' at the clock.”

   “So, she's allowed to be cozy, but when I try to sit in the same room as you, the doctor's free to get all cagey.”

   “Well, I'd say I'm a bit more familiar with him than you.”

   Reaper swallows, grumbles, holds his tongue. “What are you, some old Overwatch welp?

   Her arms cross, fierce, accidentally nudging the book into Morrison's side, who in turn flinches and quietly laughs at this obviously spurious conversation. “You know, I've had it up to here, with this. And, I've been told, that I'm supposed to leave what you do up to you, but, I can't? I feel like..”, her arms raise again, at him, exasperated, “ That I'm offending my mother just to pretend here, for /your/ sake and /yours alone/.”

   “What you think of your mother doesn't mean shit to me.”

   “That’s a lie too!”, the woman moves to stand now, but has an arm grabbed, is forced to hesitate, “ Am I going to have to be my mother? For two, grown men?”, he leans over from his grab, pressing a face against her arm, and the odd intimacy breaks both arguers chain of thought.

   “Alright, at ease.”, Reaper hasn't bridged the gap between them yet, still holding near the break in the curtain. “I’m trying to figure out here, what you both think you're up too.”

   “Ahh....”, she mumbles, still holding onto her promise, barely.

   “Fareeha, I heard your voice and thought you were your mother. I'm not sure why anyone here thought I would hear Gabriel Reyes, and just be, like I wouldn't know that.”, he's mumbling into her arm, regretting to say it out loud; having hoped Reyes would do it himself first.

   One moment passes, two moments. The ghosts head falls all the way back, and he /GROANS/, screaming quietly for a solid second. Sure. He's absolutely infuriated that there was no facade here, and probably, was never one. He'd been treating him like someone else's lost dog, for days now, weeks, when in fact he knew it was his dog. Between the realization herself and Reyes absolutely perfect reaction, Fareeha has fallen into laughter, nervous and tired, “Aahh, oh my old friend, I am sorry, I don't know what we thought.”

   “It’s been stressful, it's ok.”, he pats her arm, reassuring but humoured.

   “IT’S NOT OK?”, Reaper barks, about ready to flip the bed and choke him to the real death, “ You just sat there, and /pretended/? Where do you get off, on that shit? When did you even /figure/?”

   “For Christ sake, Reyes, when you /said my name/ to my face back in Mexico!”, they're both a little astounded now in their own way. “Everyone has been making old man jokes to me since I got here, it's nice to know it's not /me/ who's gone /senile/.”

   He doesn't know how to answer that. He kind of has gone... senile, supposed. Bad memory. Mood swings. Sleeps a lot. Oh god, he's old. When he thinks too long about it, silence settles out again, the still sitting Fareeha looking between the two of them with confusion. It's jarring when the ghost turns on heel, and leaves without response. Morrison nearly pushes her out of the bed when he flails to rise, “Hold up, just hold up!”, he's much better on his feet today, but he still isn't much for seeing the details of the room.

   Reyes' is a fast piece of shit when he's mad, nearly to the door, “I don't take orders from you anymore, /Commander/.”

   “Fine, it's not an order...? I'm not going to be here tomorrow, they set me up a room, and I'm going to be there. Thought I'd tell you so you don't waste your time bothering Angela more.”

   “What makes you think I want anything to do with you.”

   “... A hunch.”, when he looks around to see the silhouette of his old friend, he isn't exactly looking in the right direction, but he's got in fist in the air. No, I'm not having any of that tonight, thank you.

   A door slams and the woman sighs, softly, staring down the old soldier in the low light. Shirtless, but pants'd(thank god), bandaged but barely, his wounds miraculously healed. Super soldier stuff, Dr. Ziegler stuff. Comforting. “I am sorry, Jack. I don't know why Angela wanted to keep it a secret so much.”

   He hands his way back to the bed, sitting with a grunt at the foot. “Embarrassed, probably. “

   “You were both like fathers to me, you know.”

   “Yeah, I know.”

   “Does he?”

   “ .. I'll figure it out, I guess? Someone's gotta do... something about him.”

   She settles back into the bed, mulling over the ideas in her head. “I don't know why you both want too. From what it all sounds like-”

   “It’s a bit more complicated than that. You'll have to trust me about it.”

   “.. Ok, I guess. I'm outnumbered on my opinion about it, anyways.”

\-----

   His room is 'nice', compared to anything the old soldier has had in the past five years. Clean bed, clean sheets. Wool blanket. Empty- he had no chance to grab any of his things before being unrightfully kidnapped; but it isn't as if he had anything to grab. Maybe a spare change of underwear. Feeling around the room in the dark, Jack finds a dresser, opens to explore the contents, finds more fabric. Guess one of the nice people here brought him some things to replace. A casual sniff reminds him of someone familiar, but not enough to guess who it might be. It's been a while, and he didn't used to have to remember the smell.

   It's past midnight when the door slips open, as quietly as the electronic lock can provide, and the room pressure changes. Reaper hates that tell of his, unable to hide that one in the situation his binding incurs. It's something when the sleepy man doesn't rise or roll when it's obvious he's here, but the hitch of his breath and a tiny sigh, he isn't asleep. This isn't the first night in his new room, at least. Three days of stubborn avoidance and moping, several times where Jack could've sworn he'd walked by him close enough to feel the chill, but not enough to touch. Gabriel had been aloof before, but these new abilities brought his arm’s length approach to situations to new heights. When the door shuts, they sit in humming dark silence, and for a while he wonders if, like some nights before in the infirmary, he'd just stand and watch him sleep. Or try to sleep, rather, because he was very difficult for him to sleep while being watched.

   “Alright, I'm not drowning in painkillers anymore, I can't sleep with you just there.” .. Grumbles. Shifting fabric, the odd creak of fake leathers. “You gonna get all shy on me now? What’s the difference now, I let you sleep by my bed before, nothing has changed. “

   “Why don't you care..?”

   “Do you want me to care?”

   “Yeah. “

   “What do you want me to care about, Gabriel.”

   “I don't know, maybe the fact I've tried to kill you? More than once?”

   “Didn’t know it was me before.”

   “That isn't true. What, have I gone all this way just to find you've gone spineless, somehow? You hid it /very well/, Soldier 76. “

   “It’s not like that. Just look at the situation for once.”

   “I’m looking at it more then you are.”

   “Are you? “, he finally rolls over, 'facing' the shadow as it whirls in irritation, “Sure, I could hate you. We could fight. But both of us are 'captured' here. And I can think about all the times you busted my ass, or instead, we can be common enemies.”

   “You don't want to be here so badly? I would've thought you'd be at least a /little/ attached to your parasite.”

   “Are you kidding me? You asked before, but I guess I'll tell you again. There is no chance I want anything to do with this. And I won't be staying here long, no matter what you, or they think they're going to get out of me. “, he lays back down, squishing away to the other side of his bed. “ So enjoy it while it lasts.”

   There was far more in common between them then he had originally calculated. Reyes remembers the distant ghost of Morrison's personality, hard-set and steel. Prideful. He shakes out his body with a dull thud of his coat jacket, and... Goes with the flow? Something like that? He's right. Two days ago he was sleeping underneath his legs. Fuck it. Slipping past the darkness, he weights down the bed frame with the creak of his weight. Jack makes a satisfied noise at 'winning' the argument, so to say, but hums a tone of confusion, “Ok, I feel like I'm going to get a stupid answer, but /why/ are you still wearing that outfit.”

   Reaper's already shifted onto his face, laying, the pleather fabric rubbing against Jacks' naked back flesh. “It doesn't come off.”

   “ … “, he sits up, rolling onto his stomach and pushing up his torso with his arms. Staring blindly. “What do you mean it doesn't come off.”

   “The fuck does it sound like, Morrison. “

   “It’s a /jacket/ and- how do you... ”, timidly, he reaches a hand over to tug at the material of the 'jacket's' cape, and sure enough, it doesn't pull up past his waistline. When the ghost doesn't object to the, he plies a finger to the waistband itself- and once again sure enough, it sticks in place to the 'shirt'.

   “I don't.”

   “... Why doesn't it come off?”

   As much as he'd been quietly begging anyone to ask him about himself, the situation is proving to be terribly awkward. “I don't hold together well. It's even worse with this collar.”

   Jack swallows, mouth dry. “Hah, that was something I always thought about when I saw you on the field. Wondered how you didn't lose your pants. I didn't really guess it'd be this straight forward.”

   “Yeah well, it isn't high on Talon's priority list to make it so I can be naked.”

   “I always thought Talon bent over backwards for you.”, he lays back down, on his side, resting a hand in the small of the forced clothed ones back. Reyes has not, so far, vetoed the close contact invited.

   “Ha!”, his bark of a laugh shakes the bed, “ Never. Not ever did they do anything for the people they hire.”

   Morrison wants to question his use of the word 'hire', but saves the information for a later conversation. “Mn, well don't let me ruin the mood asking you questions that'll put you in a shitty mood... Shittier, mood.”

   “I’m not always in a bad mood.”

   “Is this a /good/ mood?”

   “It’s close enough. I'm not trying to kill you, am I.”

   “You haven't tried since I met you.” What a... broad and wholly incorrect answer to give. Since he met Reyes? Since he met Reaper? Reaper had, quite a few times, tried to kill Soldier 76. Other members of Overwatch at this time seemed to be vaguely aware of his various levels of betrayal. Maybe he's being pickier in his definition of 'you'. “You’re thinking too hard about it.”

   He wants to sass back at Morrison's dismissal of his thoughts, but he can't help but notice fingers digging in through the fabric on his back. It's right at the metal that sticks out, stuck into his spine, and when he forces a scratch though hard enough he can feel, it's very satisfying. He presses his face into the pillow, muffling a grumble. “What. Are you doing.”

   “Seeing what you remember.”

   “You’ll be just elated to know, according to everyone, it's not very much.”

   “Seems you're remembering just fine to me. Can't quite reach very well though.”

   He's implying he remembers what getting back scratches is like- or more specifically, that he /enjoyed them/, and in a particular spot, too. Reyes doesn't think he remembers any situations before this where it would've occurred, but his body seems to. Arching his spine, he hopes to wiggle at least some of the affection to where he wants it, but alas, the metal in entirely in the way. When Jack presses into it, it's uncomfortable, but in the moment turns oddly satisfying, and the ghost makes a noise akin to pleasure. He doesn't like it. “Hah, there is it. Is this attached to your back or...?”

   “Rhnn, /yes/, and I'd ask you didn't go jamming it around.”

   “Are you sure?”, he does it again, and it makes the ghost want to whip around and rip the offending steel straight out of his spine.

   “Oh, I'm /very/ sure. “, probably, he's still curving his back upwards from the bed, like a cat begging. He sighs to settle back down to the mattress when the hand wanders away, but it isn't done being offensive yet. It tugs on his hood, which /is/ apparently removable, but his head is still obscured by material and mask. “You won't find anything there either.”

   “Eh, can't see anyways. Doc told me your mask comes off though.”

   “Not for very long, and not right now. I'm tired.”

   “Alright, alright.”, with the hood tugged down, Jack snakes fingers down to the base of his neck, and scratches there instead. The fabric is much thinner here- and it's much less work to make his effort known. Reyes is trying hard not to enjoy it but, it's very too much appreciated, and he nearly purrs. “…Not as far gone as they all seem to think, are you.”

   “I don't know what you mean by that.”

   “Don’t think about it...”, but it's impossible not too, and Reyes pushes up from his face flat lay with his arms. The claws of his gauntlets nearly rip into the fabric below.

   “I’m sorry if it's a little hard to just go along with whatever you're trying to do.”

   “Would you crucify me for being nostalgic?”

   “Shouldn’t I?”, should he? It's like a fever dream, too good to be true. Like being toyed around with, like the carrot was about to stab him in the back. So far ago now that he'd be offered this kind of attention. It burns his heart, to feel so starved for it and willing, that it drowned out the tiny wraith of rage that usually ran him.

   “I can't tell you what you should or shouldn't. Not anymore. You'll have to decide for yourself.”

   The answer was too honest. He's being spread between a fence of aggression and memory, and with effort(and a response Hana had been fostering for months, now.), Reyes reaches his hand over, slipping it to the other side of Jack. With a measured exhale, he leans down, straddling the soldier's torso and leaning down, nearly presses into the side of his face. “Alright, well, choke me to death quick then.”

   “God damnit- I'm not going to kill you.”

   “… Oh?”, and while he attempted to think of more to say, an errant leg pushes his apart, rough blanket fabric pressing against his bare thighs. There was a couple ways this situation was going to progress, and he's somewhat elated that this is where it was going- but also, confused, because of what they were talking about before. Don't question it, for now.

   In an act of repayment, Jack feels a cold metal hand press into his naked chest, flattening him to his back. The claws, gentle still, drag up his torso, tracing over leftover bandages and lines of white body hair he adorns between scars. Many of these are unfamiliar. He wishes he could really feel them, stunted by the thick metal of the gauntlets, but he traces them regardless in compulsion. The other's leg is trapped between his thighs now, straddled, and Reyes looming over top; blindly he blinks and stares into the darkness, slipping his hands over top of the ones that pet him. Jack thinks for a moment he found a break in the suit itself, where straps accent his biceps, but it's thin fabric again. It's hard to resist pressing into the muscle there, undegraded over the years.

   “You still sleep naked.”

   “How else do you sleep.”, what an odd, but beautiful thing to remember about him, Reyes. The ghost’s hips push upwards for a moment, readjusting and pulling out the blanket between them. The soldier far prefers the softer pleather and thick thighs to the wool on his skin. “Gabriel, you're going to have to throw me a bone here. You said that doesn't come off. What are you doing?”

   “I’m not thinking about it.”

   “ .. Ok, yeah, I asked you to do that but-”, a clawed hand moves from his stomach and to the soldier’s mouth, silencing him.

   “Shh.”, adjusting again, he fully rises onto his heels, sliding a hand down and reaching it behind Jack's knee, pulling the soldier's left leg forward and into a folded position. 'Shh' he would, curious to what his old lover was getting at. He was always the kind to show and not tell; more and more this 'Reaper' was showing his hidden colours, and he was currently satisfied with that. It might be a bit awkward, but for his purposes, the old soldier lets his ghost drift into old instincts- and way back when, they most definitely would've drifted straight to sex this fast... if not faster.

   The metal hand palms down between his legs for a moment, but sharp and unwieldy, Reyes seems hesitant to touch. A softer hand replaces the sharp one, sliding under Reyes, but weaving around a pinky to encourage it to stick wrapped around his while Jack, very casually, touched himself for the ghost's viewing pleasure. There's a new level of arousal for the situation- how odd it all was coming together like this, and how desperate the ghost seemed to get so quickly. It'd been a while for Jack, honestly, but he'd at least been able to touch himself; and Reyes was starting to rut the other man's shin between his thighs like a horny dog. He might be trapped in his plastic prison, but Jack can /feel/ the erection growing beneath.

   He's trying not to voice his desperation, but he's /tried/ to get off before, and it has never, ever worked. He's working himself up for failure, and while Jack is eating it the fuck up, he might be less inclined when, weary and /frustrated/, he guts him for his soul out of rage. The focus goes off his own stunted pleasure, for now, and still gripping the other man's hand, he works to get Jack off first, and forget about himself- or when possibly, the sight of his finished fascination could help push him to his edge. The soldier is more than happy to oblige, still letting Reyes control the situation passively, and lets his hand act as a barrier more than himself. There's a part of him that wishes he'd just grip with those claws, but the ghost is already upset sounding, quietly whiny and loudly growling. Originally, this whole plan tonight was supposed to be for Reyes' enjoyment, but it's going a little sideways on him.

   Movements pause for a moment when Jack's breath grows a bit too ragged, and while he settles, his ears pick up a soft mechanical hiss, and whine. It's confusing at first- but then he can hear the ghost’s breath and voice more clearly. Despite the flinch when Jack's arms rise from the respective positions of dick and chest, Reyes allows the other man to wrap hands around his face, and 'see' the details of his decay. A thumb brushes over eyelashes. An index finger finds its way into the hole in his cheek, brushing against the shown molars. When he presses in confusion, the ghost opens his jaw, slightly, to let his finger skin slip between the gap of them, then bites down, pinching the flesh between gently. When Jack finally figures what exactly he's touching, his face contorts a bit to disgust, but he isn't taking his finger out, so it's safe to say he's become fucked up enough to accept a disgusting hole in his face. The thumb about his eye finds the deep scar there as well, inspecting it with a press, and is equally taken aback when the flesh fades around his prodding, evaporating in thick, cold wisps of fog. “You’re... really messed up.”

   “That happens when you die.”

   “I died just the same as you did, Gabriel.”

   “Apparently not.”, the hands move down to cup his jaw instead, scratching into unusually placed stubble where the flesh held well enough to be scratched. Reyes sighs when one hand travels down again, eyes squeezed shut and accidentally relishing in the affection, but after a moment gets a lovely surprise when fingers returns, pressing at his mouth and wet with precum. A shame on him for forgetting, for a moment, that they were fucking. In apology, he lets the soldier get away with convincing him to lick fingers, lightly placing them into his cold mouth. It's a lot... gooier then he was expecting it to be, but there's a solid flat of muscle that squishes the offending digits around. This was most certainly not cleaning them off, but rather, leaving them covered in something entirely too /viscous/. If he could think to see it, he'd be granted the visuals of Reyes, Reaper, dark and foreboding, eyes gleaming crimson, and drooling black. His flesh cracking at its scars. They might be both a little glad that he /can't/ see.

   When he feels he's has enough coating fingers in himself, a gauntlet pulls the arm back down to continue the 'show'. There was a point in his life he'd be more concerned at the growing tingly feeling Reaper's saliva was giving his hand- but instead he spreads it all over his still very much hard dick as invited, and low and behold, the same creeping feeling travels. Reyes laughs lowly when the soldier's expression falters hazy, his growing night vision giving him a healthy view of Jack's reddening face. Though still stiff in his pants and pressed against the other man's leg, he's forgotten about himself for the time being; gripping his metal digits against the heat of his midsection. The other hand trails down further, and while he probably shouldn't stick his gauntlet fingers inside of anything, the somewhat warm now steel presses against the curve of his taint and downwards to his ass. There's a momentary flinch when he thinks that Reyes might actually take a claw to the asshole, but a coo and a soft tracing of the flesh below relaxes him again. The extra sensation serves to edge him further quite nicely without being perforated.

   Whether it's the long break in between his last masturbation, the stressful past weeks he's been having, or the absolutely unusual sexual situation Reaper was putting him though, his stamina was hung to dry. Reyes isn't going to complain about it, for once Jack might note, being quite tired himself and content to watch the man spend himself over his stomach. Reyes' head cocks to the side when it's a gripping of sheets and a choked breath, wheezing, but no vocal sounds. In fact, he has been the one of the two of them whining like a heated cat the whole time, while his other spent his time quietly. It's a distinct memory of opposites, to their past, but he can enjoy the moment knowing it felt backwards instead of forgetting that it should. When after a moment of thrusting and writhing, he settles, the ghost leans down while he gasps and recovers, gripping either side of Jack's ribs in possession, and drawing a tongue across where white steaks of cum mat in the treasure trail of his midsection. It's still cold enough in Reyes mouth to make him flinch, his silence breaking with a deep laugh from being tickled by the grip and the tongue snaking up his flesh. “Y’keep doing that you're gonna get me up again.”

   “Probably not.”, he mumbles into the skin, “ Old man.” It's becoming very freeing, at this point, to act instinctual. Something in the mid of Jack's core is alluring him now, like a moth to the flame. The old soldier hums a note of confusion when he hears the wraith /hiss/, inhumanly, rumbling like a gator, and rising, unseeing his widening jaw. When he bites down into him- it isn't into flesh, but a pocket of air in front of his heart, and while for a moment Jack's exhales in relief he isn't about to be eaten so violently, the relief is stripped from him as Reaper pulls back and literally rips.../something/, from his chest. He can't see it- not because of the blindness, but because of its literal non-existence on a plane that he could see or feel, but for the sparing half second of consciousness Jack was given before blacking out, he hears the clacking of teeth and a horrible gargle of the wraith most definitely eating.

   When his eyes flash open it feels like it's been less than a millisecond- but he way he's propped up into a sit, the way he's cradled into his lap, and the proximity between their faces. Jack's struck by the ozone and death scent that lingers between them, exhaled in stress, and leans all the way back, grasping at the offending face. “Well excuse me for wanting to see if you were dead.”, Reyes barks, letting him fall back to the bedframe.

   “Excuse me? If you hadn't just- what. What did you do.”

   His head shakes so violently it shakes the frame, hissing, “ I wasn't thinking straight, and I was /hungry/.....”

   “...What did you eat?”

   “... You? Maybe. I don't know.!”

   “ .. Is it deadly?”

   “Only if you're wounded. Which you aren't.”

   When his brain fully connects with consciousness, he can't help but feel extremely washed out- but /content as all hell/. The kind of reprieve you feel after a long, peaceful nap, but along with the missing feeling of stress, he was completely unaroused as well; as if the current fucking hadn't occurred in hours. Jack blinks, slow, breathing in time. In the new position, Reyes' poor erect self was pressed against his ass, unconcerned with the mood ruining emotional vore that apparently just took place. It'd be terribly rude to just leave it like that, regardless of his own mood. “Well, you didn't kill me still, and I'm gonna assume you weren't tryin'. Lean back over here.”

   “What really.”, like he's trying to hide the beg in his voice, but after year of experience, Jack catches it. A hand reaches over and tugs at his jacket hood, and the ghost obliges, leaning back over and planting hands to either side of the other man's head. He doesn't give him verbal answer, but instead pushes up his knee again, fixing it under Reyes' ass. One arm reaches down to palm the poor trapped erection softly, testing where and where it can't be well touched, the other snaking around his neck and fingering nails into the material at the back of his neck. With some forceful readjustment and absolutely keening vocals from the desperate man above, he finds a position well enough in his growing rougher caressing that over each stroke Reyes hips flex in vain effort. Fucking his hand through material, focusing past the accidental violence and to the before where Jack was prone and gasping beneath him. He can still taste the bitter cum on his tongue.

   There's a big part of Morrison that wants to stop right when cries at his breaking point, leaned down on his elbows now and gasping right in his ear, but he's aware enough that this isn't the right time for edging, and there's a massive, angry claw shredding the sheets to the right of his head. Not to mention now, with how violently the ghost whines to him, wordless begging, it's doubtful he was lying about his inability to get off from himself or anyone else since his 'accident'. His arm nearly cramps after many minutes of trying, it's a huge relief them both when Reyes' body jolts and freezes, Jack exerting the last of his arm's strength to wring a climax from him. His groan is loud and jarring from the empty room, and he swears he hears the other man sob, but as he exhales and rides out the fiercely missed pleasure of cumming, he body writhes free of its 'containment'. Jack jumps a moment when something hard hits his chest, apparently having fallen from Reyes' neck, but he's far more distracted by the way his hand presses and /sinks/ into the cool, thick flesh of his partner. Past the layer of fabric, he can't distinctly tell where his dick is in this mass of ghosting flesh, but when the ghost purrs and flexes into the invasive groping hand, Jack can tell he's sort of in the right place. It helps him ride out the orgasm far better than plastic filtered pressure ever would.

   Curiosity is getting the better of the Jack now, though, and his hand travels upwards- pushing through the flesh that easily gives way and reforms in its wake. The room is stinking now, more ozone then anything, and with his involuntary jerking settling down, he simply lets the soldier grip around his organs for sport. When he settles his hand, deep inside his chest, Jack at first feels lungs expand and warm air filter in around the chill of evaporating flesh he's manhandling, but as he progresses, the soldier is gently squeezing around his heart. For a long moment it's hard to tell that's even where he is- though the placement is all right in his ribs, the muscle in question takes forever to 'beat', if they could call it that. It's apparent beating isn't a task the heart needs to do anymore, its duty in Reyes' long since replaced by whatever ran his body. When it finally moves, it feels heavy, thick and forceful inside his hand. Flushed with blood that stays warm for the moment it lives inside the organ rendered useless by the ghost’s reincarnation. Maybe it would be having less trouble moving if it wasn't being perforated by his gentle fingering, but he'd never know, and he can only assume it's not the worst feeling in the world with how Reyes calmly /lets him do it/. However his 'fun' could only last so long, as his grows thick and reforming in his hand, a chuffed “ Out.” from his partner beckons him to pull back and lay, lungs growing over saturated with whatever fog Reyes' dispelled on the often.

   Feeling a bit unsteady now, he eases his weight down to the side. An awkward shuffle takes place so neither of them ends up terribly crushed, either between the wall or the weight of the ghost while he reforms. Jack feels the small thing that fell on him removed, click, and he assumes, becoming replaced to its prior location on Reyes neck. Don't think about it. He can hear him answer in his head before the soldier can even ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to the friend that once rp'd a scene with me that involved fingering a mans heart. he died, however, so. reaper's got that going for him.
> 
> i love getting all the comments i do but if i don't reply don't be discouraged ;o; i just have terrible anxiety a lot of the time.
> 
> i feel like i take a long time writing chapters but i take less time then some other's do so i can hold onto that thought.
> 
> now i have to start writing the second part of this ficweb that is genji/hanzo/mccree and maybe if i'm lucky i'll get to zenyatta, who is my literal favourite overwatch. 
> 
> i should really join one of the overwatch otp discords but i don't know where to start and also, the aforementioned anxiety.


	8. ch8(bad day again my god)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the hunger pains, they only get worse

   Jack is woken up to a familiar burn in his temples, eye snapping open to mental visions of the roof in red and white. He sits up just as suddenly, arm slapping over to the mass of red and black strips that kneel at the edge of the bed, a long tendril of an arm lingering above his face. The startled waking is expected,; Reyes gently grasps the offending arm as it hits him, pushing it back, and wrapping cold metal digits around its heat. Jack can feel the claws cautiously try to push between his knuckles, so he lets the ghost play with his fingers while he awakens fully.

   “ .. I coulda sworn you broke it.”

   “I stole it because I wanted to see how it worked.”

   “Well, there you go Gabriel.” Jack inhales deeply through the mask filter, tilting his head towards the hard to register creature beside him. “ … Well, I was going to say it helps me see you, but it's not actually good at that. Do you know what it says about you?”

   Reyes joins him on the bed, lazing on foot of it and slinking between Jack's feet. “No. It wouldn't work for me when I tried.”

   “It’s 'cause it doesn't think you're human. It doesn't work for omnics.”

   “I’m not an omnic.”

   His hand lifts to the side of his head, tapping the visor. “Well, technology always has it flaws.”

   “No, I'm curious now.” Reyes presses the space between them, lingering his face too close to red line of vision. To Jack, it's an encompassing core of cold black, two points of heat directly in front of him- he guesses as eyes. “What do your little goggles seem to think that I am.”

   The answer doesn't come immediately, and impatiently the ghost huffs as him, unscented irritable fog through the mask. “ … Cold.”

   “Just that? Cold?”

   “It’s never gotten a read on you, no matter how many times I tried to get a decent scan. Even with you right in my face.” A hand raises to pat against his skull mask, Jack laughing quietly when it doesn't perturb him.

   “.. You should ask Winston to upgrade it. Maybe without the mouth part so I don't have to listen to you garble through the filter.”

   “I like the mask for breathing, especially since you seem to like fogging death all the time.”

   “Hana never complained.”

   “Well I'm not nineteen, my 'old man' lungs don't like it. Besides, if I gotta hear /you/ through a mask, I should do you the same favour. ”

   “That’s not the same, I need this to /exist/.”

   “I bet Winston'd make you something nicer if you asked.”

   His laugh shook the bed frame, hands gesturing in astonish, “You can't honestly believe that... And some super soldier you are. What did you do to yourself?”

   Jack scoffs at the question, apparently bugged by the honesty in his tone. “Same thing that happened to my eyes, Reyes.”

   There's hesitation in the air he can /feel/ exuding from the ghost. “... You didn't tell me when that happened, either.”

   In a moment, he wishes he wasn't wearing a mask so that Reyes could see the full potency of his expression; abashed, so taken aback by his response. “When Overwatch fell..?”

   Reyes tilts up his head, visibly thinking. “Switzerland.”

   “ ..yyyes..?”

   “Yeah, ok, it makes sense when you say it so /bluntly/. What do I know, it could've been any of the many misadventures of Soldier 76.”

   He rolls his head back, neck cracking. Something in Jack's voice sounds strained when he replies, hiding a spare thought. “Yeah, I guess- you're not wrong. But no.” His head tilts towards Reyes, testing a question. “Same as you, isn't it? The explosion. All... this.” Jack's hand lingers down to a collar of his pleather jacket, tugging gently.

   “.. Probably?”

   “You can't just 'probably' that.”

   “Watch me.”

   “Probably because you don't want to tell me, or probably because you honestly don't remember.”

   “I don't think about it.”

   “Any reason why?” The conversation apparently goes past the ghost's willingness to listen to it, when a clawed hand grips over Jack's face and pushes him backwards. Reaper's grumbling form moving off and away from the bed was his other indicator, and he hurries to keep up with him when he leaves.

   It's a surprise to the old soldier when after a hasty scurry into clothes, he steps out and Reaper is just, outside his door still, waiting with arms crossed. “ I always expect to see you come out with a shirt on backwards.”

   “ .. I've been blind for years, Gabriel, I know what a backwards shirt feels like.”

   “Do you know what an inside out shirt feels like?”

   … He feels up at the seams on the sides. No, it's on right- but the ghost snickers when he's fooled. “Ha ha, look, you still have jokes.”

   “What can I say, I like making people look like fools. Look, now you can figure out how to get around all by yourself.” He's implying towards the given visor. It's true, it's going to help significantly. He remembers much about the old watch point, but some things have moved and he remembers it differently when he could see it. More than a couple times he's wandered off in boredom and had to be saved from corners by various Overwatch personnel.

   “Yeah, and now no one can hide from me.” Jack gives him a playful whap to the arm, which he replies to with scoffing.

   “Trust me, if I still wanted to hide from you, I'd be gone.”

   “Probably wouldn't have given me my eyes back at all.”, they're walking now, Morrison leads, he needs food(and coffee, oh boy is he so glad for the coffee here.) and Reyes seems to want to keep his company.

   “ .. No, I would have.”

   He chuckles under his breath, “Really? Well aren't you sweet.”

   “It was /pitiful/, watching you bump uselessly into everything.”

   “Sure, sure.”

\---

   It's an uncomfortably 'full' house in the kitchen. It makes Reaper hesitate at first, but stubbornly he follows his apparent obsession. Jack's determined for coffee and unaffected by the tiny crowd- but also, Reinhardt is inside, and they'd been remaking themselves friends since his return from the grave. They were joined with Angela, Mccree, and a Japanese man Reaper was unfamiliar with(but could make an assumption based on the conversation he'd had with Mccree and Genji before), but whom Jack gave a sneaky thumbs up too. The 'mystery'-man gives him a scowl, and neither exchange words. He's too occupied being doted on by by the cowboy at his side.

   There's a unsurprising level of confusion when the old soldier enters; for the first time since his arrival he's able to 'look' between them. “Jack, what's on your face.” Angela speaks, staring him down with her chin in her palm.

   “.. I even forgot it was there. Uh,” he points to Reaper, arms crossed behind him, “Reyes had my mask, gave it back. I don't need to try and make a replacement anymore, should tell Winston.”

   “Oh! Well, with how you explained how that thing worked, I am certain he wanted to make you something better anyways.”

   “Well, I can't eat with it on, so I'm kind of hoping.”, and in that statement, he unclips it from his face. Without breaking a beat in his stride, Jack sits down beside his largest of friends, who is visibly elated by this, letting him steal his coffee without complaint. The previous and unremarkable morning conversation continues around them, Jack and Reaper both keeping quiet and observing. Morrison listens specifically for the voice of Mccree and the man he'd met days earlier he'd known as Hanzo.

   It's to Reaper's distaste that the cowboy breaks away from the stranger and approaches him with a sly smirk instead. He lets him saddle up beside, but straightens and rumbles to express his discontent. “What, he's allowed to call you Reyes without a fuss, but when /I/ try...”

   “Have you tried arguing with him before? It's pointless.” No one is really paying the two old close comrades mind, but Jack hears them.

   “Kinda like arguing with you?”

   “Yeah, sure, /exactly/ like arguing with me.”

   “Never stopped me.”

   “No, it /didn't/, no matter how many times I /beat you/.”

   “Aw, you remember beating me. That's nice.”

   “What else were you good for?”

   He finally seems to strike a note with Jesse, replying with silence and a soft look barely below the rim of his hat. A soft look- he was hoping to receive irritation or distrust, but he's giving him something akin to pity. A rumble sinks from the deep of his chest, slipping back towards the door. Nothing was saying he had to deal with this. “Just like that you're gonna balk on me?”

   “I’m getting a little /tired/ of being 'teased' by the lot of you.”

   “I’m- I'm not meanin' to /tease/, 'Reaper'.” Mccree's exasperated, “Come’on, I won't say nothing no more, I'll go sit back down.” He already moves to sit back with his 'friend', who has been /staring/, but it doesn't soothe the ghost's temper.

   It isn't until Jack awkwardly looks backwards in his chair, bending all the way over(cracking his spine), that Reyes' stops, invisibly squinting as he does. “Get back over here, you haven't even eaten.”

   “.. I don't eat!”, he can't remember if he told Jack that or not in the moment, but he does remember telling him the suit doesn't come off, which should /imply/...

   “Just souls?”

   “Yeah, you got a problem with that?”

   “I’ve shown you I don't.”

   At first he thinks he might've missed an implication that Jack didn't care for anyone Reyes kills and eats, but it hits him that he's talking about /last night/, which is painfully intimate of a conversation to have in the middle of the kitchen. The conversation that has now become the center of attention due to Jack breaking his spine to 'look' at him despite being blind, and Reaper's rising tone of voice. In an aggressive motion he steps the gap between them, shoving his head back over his chair. “You don't even have to look at me, /what/ are you /doing/.” He's aware he's become the center of attention but can't seem to stop himself.

   Jack grunts when he's pushed, but isn't injured. “You can hear me better when I face you?”

   “I’m not deaf, or stupid.”

   The conversation becomes a bit too 'real' between those who knew them in the past- beside them Reinhardt leans back and stares. “I’m not saying you are.” Even though he'd stated before that eating real food was out of his vocabulary, Jack offers the stolen coffee. “Still testy in the morning, I see.”

   “I can't- why do you keep trying to taunt me.”

   “... Habit.” Jack gets another whap for that, which he is completely unaffected by.

   Reaper jumps when he feels an hand on his arm, expecting to turn and see Mccree- but it's Angela instead, her eyebrows furrowed in anger. He's doesn't understand exactly why she's as mad looking as she is, and responds by pulling his arm back and snarling. Her concern is due to the fact that he's begun literally frothing in rage- forcing past his collar in what little he could to to evaporate at his feet. There was no Hana available to tell them whether or not it was the kind of thing to worry about(which she would tell them, it's really not), so the doctor can only take action against it assuming it is. Mccree tried at first to dissuade her, but her already growing frustrations with the ghost is letting her temper the best her. “For even a moment, can you just stop this?”

   “.. No? Why would I even want too?” She couldn't have expected for him to just falter in her presence, in fact, he takes on the challenge head on.

   Jack, however, isn't about willing to let the day get wasted without a fight. “Angela, hold on for a moment.”

   “No you hold on, Jack Morrison,” He flinches as the irritation is redirected at him, turning to face her. “I’m getting a bit tired of you telling me this is fine.”

   “Well, I'm sorry, but you're gonna keep hearing it. Nobody is hurting anyone.”

   “ That's not what I am seeing here.”, she looks back towards Mccree, who's sheepish to be in the spotlight for this argument, and back to Jack, “ You know that I want to help but I'm not going to let him walk all over you or anyone.”

   “Angela, he /always/ tried to walk all over everyone, this isn't new.”

   The conversation goes stale in Reaper's mind when he catches a scent undeniable in his rage. Or, could he call this rage? It was the same as last night, but a different sort of smell in his nose- he rocks on his heels and faces her. Her's is a choked back rage at the forefront, but hinting in it's center, it what he likes best. Mccree and Reinhardt notice both when his posture turns from standoffish to inspecting, head ducking like a dog at the ready, but neither can react fast enough when Reaper snaps a hand around her neck and wrist. Not even Athena tracks how quick the attack occurs, it not responding to the collar as aggression, but it sure /looks/ like it, behind his mask he snaps at the air in front of Angela's chest. There's just a moment for her to squeak in fear before he rips an invisible something from her, snapping it his jaws. Its less than a second before he's hit by not one, not two, but three angry men- the largest of which breaks between Jack and Mccree to slam the wraith into the nearby counters.

   In an onslaught of punishment for his lack of higher decision making, last but not least, that /damned collar/, which stiffens him from his pained thrashing with a guttural noise. Reinhardt doesn't give him the time of day to even /try/ anything again, however, planting a foot on his back and pressing him into the cool tile floor. It frees up Jack to catch Angela before she falls, but unlike himself last night, she manages to stay conscious enough she doesn't rag doll to the floor immediately.

   “Now what in the hell was /that/?” Jesse leans down on the floor beside the pinned wraith, not expecting to get an answer.

   Morrison is busy leaning her down into his chair regardless of her stiff legs, and she's just quiet and blinking, rage faded to confusion. “The 'hell' that was is him trying to prove me wrong, which /isn't appreciated/, Gabriel... Angela, hey.” He waves a hand in front of her face, and after a moment her eyes follow, and her head shakes.

   She speaks quietly through the haze, “ … Can someone call Hana?”

   “NO!”, Reaper barks, pressing up from the ground, but is entirely no match for the larger man.

   “Think your opinion ain't nothin' right now, boss.”

   “I don't think Hana knows about this anyways, but I do.” Jack breaks in.

   “ .. I'm not even angry anymore?” She's looking down at the floor to the ghost, gesturing for Reinhardt to remove himself. He does so, begrudgingly.

   “That’s about right.”

   “Well, than that is very confusing.”

   “I’d try to explain but you'd tell me 'that's not medically possible'.”

   When the foot is removed, he immediately curls up onto his hands and knees, backing up and ramming himself into a corner. He desperately wants to disintegrate, amass himself and frighten as he once would've in Talon, but instead he's, as always here, a trapped feral cat. Reaper is expecting them to take advantage of his vulnerability, but after he's free from Reinhardt's weight, nothing happens. Hungry and beaten, nothing happens for a span of time he doesn't commit to memory; he doesn't move from his spot in the corner while the broken breakfast group manages the situation.

\---

   Sure, she had slept in a bit too long this morning anyways, and she was having an odd few days with no Reaper in sight- but it's really disheartening to be awoken to Athena requesting D.VA to the dining area to assist with her poor, stupid ghost friend. She stands at the table, hands on her hips and staring down at the wraith's grumbling, shifting self. Jack and her had become acquainted a day or so earlier, sharing their liking for the hissyfit in the corner. They'd said maybe in the future they would work together to help him a bit more with his mood. In the 'future'. They weren't wrong. “Ah, look at'cha.”

   “This isn't the sort of problem he had in the past when I knew him better.”

   “Well he's done it to me twice now. I mostly just...uh... leave and let him? I asked him about it, once. He said the only person who could really get his focus again immediately was uh... some woman in Talon?”, she squints, thinking about it.

   “... Widowmaker?” Angela speaks, looking none worse the wear despite the events before.

   “Yeah! That one!” The younger girl raises her hands, imitating holding a rifle. “ ~Amélie.” Hana speaks gruff, imitating again instead the man on the floor. The doctor raises an eyebrow, having not known what her name was other than the Talon given. Commit that to memory for later.

   “Well, that... kind of makes sense? They were both working for Talon.”

   “Well, how long has he been sitting there for?”

   “.. Twenty minutes?”

   “.. Good enough.”

   It isn't until he feels tugging at his hood that he registers to move. His mind pulls back to realty, grumbling, and hears a voice that has distracted him from a bad mood before. “ Yo Reaps.” Hana.

   “What.”

   “You’re on the floor, dude.”

   “What an apt observation for you to make.”

   “Are you claiming the kitchen floor for all edgelord kind?”

   “And what if I am.”

   “Mn, nope, first come first serve, and I claimed this kitchen for South Korea a long while before you were even allowed out of your room.”

   Jack is. Flabbergasted that this is how the situation unfolds. They're both knelt down beside him, all else having removed themselves from the kitchen at the advice of Hana. Reaper, however, hasn't looked up to tell who exists and who doesn't. “Well, survival of the fittest, then, and I'd like to see you /try/ to remove me.”

   “I could probably manage.”

   The wraith /sighs/ when Jack makes himself known right beside, leaning and staring up at the two of them just beyond the fabric of his hood. “Try me.”

   “Don’t need to yet. How about you answer me some questions, first.”

   “Fuck off.”

   “Ok, no, not an option I gave you. Could you help what you just did or are you compelled?”

   “I’m hungry.”

   “Is that an answer?”

   “What does it sound like, Morrison”

   “ … Vague.”, He scrunches his nose thinking. Despite Hana's apprehension to it, he reaches out a hand to pull the hood back and rub his hand over the back of Reyes' head. Though he grumbles up a storm, he still doesn't move- Jack can't see her face, but the girl beside him has a nervous and surprised face at being able to keep his arm after such a bold action- she might be flashy with her word smithing around Reaper, but physical touch was a different level altogether... Then again, they did know each other long before, and as she'd remembered from that one night in the 'living room', Reaper was very, very attached to this strange, blind old man. “I just need to know if I'm going to have to watch for you every time you start getting antsy.”

   “You probably should.” He isn't being sarcastic or exaggerating.

   “Alright then, I can do that. I'll have to think of something else you can eat, too.”

   “In all the years I've been this, souls are the only thing I can keep.”

   “Except, you aren't eating souls when you do this. You're just taking excess energy.”

   Reaper hadn't questioned it back in Talon, but Jack's right. The ones with excess fear were never ones he killed first, or at all sometimes. The one man back in Mexico most recently- the last man, he hadn't killed at all, just left him with some pissed pants and a complete lack of dread when he awoke. It added a little spice to Reaper's diet. “Well, didn't seem like the doctor appreciated it much.”

   “ … Actually? If you'd given a little warning, she said it was very relieving afterward. She doesn't usually have a temper, but this whole... Overwatch thing, is stressful.”

   “ .. So he ate Dr. Ziegler’s 'stress'?”

   “ I guess so?”

   “I’m still hungry.”

   “But are you 'as' hungry?”

   “...No.”

   “See? I can work with that.” Morrison rises then with a groan, stretching out his legs from being knelt for so long. “No crisis at all.”

   “Oh boy, we don't have to put you down!”

   “I’d like to see you try.” Hana and Reyes rise after him, no more calm then he was before, but keeping collected for self-preservation purposes.

   “I do have to send you back to your room now, though. Bad timeout time.”

   “There is nowhere more I would rather be in this moment.”

\---

   It's.. disheartening, to take a step backwards in their little 'taming' mission of the monster that had become of the old Blackwatch commander, but Morrison is relieved when it doesn't take the young girl down a peg at all. In fact, she seems /pleased/ a bit that it happened, 'finally', she says, she was 'waiting for it' and now that it had happened, things can keep going forward. Optimistic till the end. She was a very fitting match for Overwatch.

   He's replacing her now at the guard of Reaper's door, even though neither of them expected the ghost to try anything. Duty is duty, however, and all else were in the mission room again, discussing some problem of Lucio's, the young man who'd gotten Jack in the mess in the first place. He'll admit he let his eyes close for a few minutes while he stood and waited, so long that the steps approaching are a bit too close for his subconscious mind, and he jolts startled.

   “Whoa there! Sorry to catch you sleepin' on the job, then.”

   “Mccree... Hanzo,” it seems a bit like the brother Shimada isn't leaving the poor cowboy alone, or perhaps he was a walking prison guard for him much like Jack was for Reyes at this point. “What can I do for you.”

   “I kinda wanted catch you for some words, but now that I'm here, I'm not sure what else we'd be getting' to talk about.”

   “I have some intuition.” Morrison would've thought it would be a more private conversation, but he tempts Jesse with it, “You’re right, he doesn't really recognize you right.”

   “.. I'm not crazy, right?”, the relief from someone else pointing it out melts his expression, “ When I asked Angela she just said he was like that for everyone, but then you come around and I... just...”

   “I’m sorry.”

   “Ah heck, I shouldn't make you feel sorry.” It was hard to tell the level of empathy the old commander actually had, having since replaced his mask for his new 'job'. “ .. He even likes that girl more then he likes me.” Hanzo is watching his expression like a hawk, but the cowboy doesn't seem to notice.

   “Don’t let the reaction he had be completely your blame, Jesse. He was wound up before we got there.”

   “ .. Yeah I guess. Thanks for humourin' me.”

   “I’ll keep working on him. He's a lot less different then he shows when he's around people. Once you get him by himself, I can barely tell the difference. Other then horrible get-up.”

   “Maybe he's forgotten you less than you think.” It's jarring when Hanzo speaks, teasing.

   “Huh? What do yah mean?”

   “You both have horrible costumes.”

   “... Oh you just love makin' that joke.”

   “You make it very easy to make.”

   Morrison snickers at the pseudo argument, glad to see them both relax a little. Mccree was always the kind to make friends quick. “Alright, wander off now, before I get in trouble for letting you stay too long.”

   “What, is he on that bad of a lock down?”

   “Since he's been attacking anyone with mood swings, yes.”

   “Shoot, that definitely includes both of us. Alright, let’s keep wanderin', Hanzo.”

   He gives a non-committal shrug to that, and the two of them wander off. The rest of the night is very uninteresting; no one else comes by to jostle him from his occasional standing naps. Jack wishes more that he could be inside rather than guarding, but Winston is adamant he leave the ghost alone to think about his life- or possibly, he gathered, that the scientist was thinking of more solutions to Reaper's 'problem'. Morrison had his own ideas, directly related to how he'd 'fed' him last night by accident, but whether or not that was the ~best~ idea was up for debate. The occasional noises that resounded from beyond the sealed door lead more towards the 'less good of an idea'... but if Jack had learned anything in his time as Soldier 76, sometimes the path less traveled was the right one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i started writing the mchanzo part of this and it was very distracting for a couple weeks. i was also having trouble figuring how i wanted to write this scene. i knew i wanted to attack angela but i didn't know where. @3@;; casually sneaks widowmaker in..... she's comin'.... she is my love. symmetra first though! symmetra time is coming.


	9. ch9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you won't catch me being hypocritical. 
> 
> bad science, or good science, depending on your point of view.

   It's early when Jack is awoken by Athena chiming in from the commlink in his ear; no matter how hard she tries to be soft spoken, he jolts awake with a grunt, looking to either side for whom might interfere with his sneaky standing sleep time.

   “Apologies Agent 76.”

   “It’s supposed to be /Soldier/ 76.”

   “Close enough. Agent Soldier 76 doesn't really speak out loud well.”

   “Yeah yeah, close enough.”

   Soldier:76 was starting to hate this job- several days of 'guarding' his poor ghost. Even though he'd been given 'permission' to enter, Reyes' didn't want to play along as much as he had before. Quiet, patient talks. Him rumbling from the corner, in the dark. Hissing if Jack even /thought/ about turning a light on. Threatening to kill him. Y'know, like a normal human does. All words, however. At no point did he attempt to harm him, and it was a very nice sign to hold.

   “Winston has asked if you might escort 'Reaper' to his lab. He has something he wants to talk with him about.”

   “ .. Reyes hasn't really become friendly again yet.”

   “Winston knows, but it's somewhat important. He feels it might lighten his mood, so to say.”

   “.. Yeah alright, I'll see if I can't coax him out.”

   Easier said than done, but he learns to be surprised. There's a point where Jack feels like he should've just /lied/ a nice story for Reyes instead of just coming forward and telling him exactly what is what. There's nothing he could trade the ghost that he even wanted- but with perseverance(and by threatening to call Hana, which worked /unusually well/), the irritable man is walking with him down the hall and towards the main computer hub. He trails lethargically behind, but there's no rush. Jack lets Winston know the arrival time isn't in minutes.

   Winston is waiting for them at the door when they get there regardless. They both receive a greeting and a smile, but, “Apologies, Morrison, but I actually need to have a private conversation, so if you could wait outside...”

   “Oh, alright.” He seems nervous, but shrugs it off. Winston was the new Overwatch head now, so he's have to take to trusting him, as he would've expected to be trusted himself in his time.

   “There isn't anything you could bring up to me that you can't bring up in front of him.”

   “Oh, I'm sure, but you might prefer later that I'd give you the option to share the information on your own time.”

   Reaper huffs, but Jack is already the way out the door, and shoving the ghost inside with a palm. “Just get it over with, I don't care.”

   Winston is hopping up to his computer station by the time the door shuts behind Reaper, and it gives the ghost a bit of deja vu to be inside here again. Last time he was here, he was... hmn. Shaking out his body like a wet dog, the ghost stamps up the stairs behind the gorilla.

   “I have two things I want to talk about.” He turns to the other man when he finally makes it up the stairs, watching him look about the repaired room with curiosity.

   “Then speak.”

   “First,” he gestures to his computer, tapping through to a webpage. It says 'Overfan Watchbase'- it's obvious a fan forum, ran by regular people. Or Reyes would have assumed, ran by normal person; a glance to the side of the page and to his profile information, it's /Winston/ who admins the board, or at least partially does. Of fucking course he does.

   Before the scientist can continue, Reaper cannot let that go silently unnoticed. “Why are you such a nerd.”

   “Raised this way!- What, are you saying you /still/ don't like that there's a big section of people out there who still believe in Overwatch?”

   “Of course I don't. Overwatch is dead.”

   “You never even liked it when it was good for you? There's people who are specifically here to talk about original gen Overwatch. That includes, ahem, /you/.”

   “ … Bet it includes Jack more.” Winston can't see it, but he can feel Reaper sneer through the skull.

   “ ..More people like Reinhardt, actually...”, he jokes, flicking through the pages for a moment. “ It's actually, super funny, there's some groups who'd even theorized that you and Jack had faked your deaths, and that Mccree is innocent, and that.. Well, lots of things, really. Can't keep much from the people.”

   “Your /point/, Winston.”

   “Oh! Haha, sorry, I got on a bit of a tangent there. Uhm, here.”, he gestures to the page in a forum sections labeled 'Help/Errors'. There's many links to threads about site-related errors or asking for specific information, but one sticks out to Reaper the moment he spots it- and Winston waits to lets him spot it himself, to see if he'd get the reaction he was hoping for. A clawed hand reaches out to click through the link himself rather than speak and wait. “Hmn? So I wasn't wrong to ask you.”

   He mumbles out the title beside Winston's ear, the ape turning to face him again. It's not in English, but Reaper's speaking it with understanding.... It's a shame Winston can't see the ghost's expression to gauge his reaction better, but it's plain enough to tell he's interested; what with how he leans and speaks aloud the words. After a moment he exhales sharply, rumbling, and leans back up. “Damn.”

   “ I was thinking what i saw it, 'so what, Overwatch is loved all over the world still', but this is a primary English speaking board- so when I saw a French thread pop up, it still caught my attention. Now, I don't know any French really, but I had some friends who sort of did, and they said it sounded like whomever this was, was looking for a 'ghost'. So I /thought/-”

   “She’s asking the ghost why it left her behind.” Reaper is tapping claws against the hip of his jacket, thinking out loud and anxiously.

   “ .. Was my hypothesis correct?”

   He's... kicking himself in the ass now. Senile, old, stupid ghost- Hypocritical ghost. There's no point where he could /blame/ her for pointing him out so plainly, out in the open, shoving his nose in it. How she'd thought over this complicated and passive aggressive plan- that /still worked/, how she was /so right/. He'd left her behind, purposefully, at this point, /forgotten about her/. It's freaking Winston out a now- how Reaper taps his foot, grumbles and groans at himself. “You aren't stupid, you know who that is and what that's about.”

   “I guess I did figure. But I didn't know if you actually cared. Apologies for sharing it with you the way I have.”

   “...Thanks for convincing me not to let Morrison with us.” He won't inform Winston as to /why/ he'd want to keep Jack off his back about it.

   “I’m not quite as socially inept as I let off.... Y'know, probably.”

   “You said you have a list of people to apprehend. Is she on that list?” Reaper's face is tilted all the way up, refusing to make eye contact.

   Winston hadn't thought Reaper would be quite this... heated. He could hold it high above his head to continue to get good behavior from him, but it might burn him in the ass later. Also, there's nothing wrong with getting Widowmaker in his hands. If Reaper will help him with it too.... “Yes, but she's not as high up as she could be. I might, however, be persuaded to count her as a greater threat than previously considered.”

   “What, you want me to suck your dick, monkey-boy.”

   The comment takes him as off guard as Reaper had wanted it to take, breaking the serious facade that was overcoming them, his face scrunching in distaste. “For the love of- god no. Please, never insinuate I ever want you near my genitals.”

   “Ok, ok, /joke/, Winston. What do you want from me?”

   “...I want to run some tests on you.”, he offers, shrugging and giving the ghost a sheepish look. Winston expects and argument to come from such a statement.

   “.. Ok.”

   “.. just like that? Are... Were you and Widowmaker that close?”

   “.... It's... not about how close we are. It's about keeping a standard.” He hisses out the word, /standard/. Something he hadn't felt held in his past.

   “ .. Alright. That comes to the second part of me wanting to see you, at least.”

   “Oh, so you were going to ask to do 'science' on me, even if I didn't give a damn about that woman?”

   “I sure was going to try. Here, come downstairs again, I preemptively set up what I needed.”

   “You were just so certain I'd agree...” Winston leads, and Reaper follows behind slowly. It's hard to keep up, even if he wanted too, for a man who didn't want to be seen entirely as an ape, he has a habit ot climbing around everywhere he went in here- he's built parts up specifically to make said climbing easier.

   “Not entirely! I just thought it would be more awkward for you if you had to stand there and wait for me to get everything set up, rather than to take it down by myself later when you disagreed.” There's a scanner set haphazardly in the corner, no casing and all wires. It looks pitifully untested- but how could he test it? There was no control group for what Reaper was. “Can you.. Take off your mask for me?”

   “ .. I need to?”

   “ .. Yeah, unfortunately. What I'm actually trying to do is, upgrade your equipment.”

   “Need a better collar for your dog?”

   “.. I meant the whole suit, actually..? It's awfully rudimentary.”

   The response leaves Reaper unsurprisingly skeptical. “ … What, did Dr. Ziegler put you up to that... Morrison?”

   “I mean, they influence my decisions, but honestly? No, I'm doing this for you.”

   “And why is that.”

   Winston sighs, pausing from the last minute calibrations he was doing on his machine. With a regrettable expression, he faces the ghost full on. Reaper awaits whatever he plans to say, letting him collect his thoughts, but crosses his arms over his chest in feigned impatience. “Everyone’s told me you're Gabriel Reyes.”

   “Sure seems like it.”, he nods his head towards him, swiping an arm forward in irritation. " And what did Gabriel Reyes ever do for you?”

   “ .. Be a hero?”, the ape shrugs, raising an eyebrow. “Be a founding member of Overwatch? Save my life once or twice when we occasionally crossed paths in missions?”

   “ … fine enough.” This conversation to his old ego could go on for hours, but he has things to do. Like sleep for another fifteen days. Claws raise to his head to un-clip the mask from his head with a hiss, and Winston, for the first time, gets to see the old Blackwatch Commander's face. It's even worse than usual, poorer than any others had seen before. Weary. Falling apart at the scars. He watches the gorilla’s expression falter in an attempt not to say anything demeaning. “Aw, do I look that pretty?” Reaper speaks with his teeth, purposely clacking them and tonguing over his shown molars.

   “Well, you look like, ahem... a 'ghost'.”, he snickers at his own joke, but continues to beckon the man towards his bare bones machine.

   “This thing gonna suck me up into a thermos?”

   “.. 'Probably' not, but I almost regret not planning for that.”

   “I would very much appreciate if you /didn't/ do that.”

   “I won't, I won't, come now.”, and Reaper does, stepping towards it and letting his shifting self bathe in the glow of it. In a moment, he feels the collar click 'off', and he fully exhales, leaning heavy while his body pulses beneath him. “Oh, perfect, I didn't even have to ask.”

   “It comes naturally. This thing forcing me whole is taking weeks off my stamina. I am hungry constantly.”

   “I was thinking that was part of the most recent 'problems' we've been having, but you admittedly had more to eat before coming here... I was thinking about upgrading your collar beforehand, too, but it not working as intended is solidifying my resolve. Can you, try to form yourself for me without its help? As much as you can.”

   “It’s not going to be as good as it could be if I wasn't starved.”

   “Just try, I can work with what you can try for me.”

   With a pained grunt, he inhales, and forces it. It's fairly convincing while it last, all his parts sticking together for one glorious moment, before falling apart spectacularly. It makes Winston jump when Reaper violently /explodes/ into thick smoke, the air permeating with noxious, corpse and ozone scented fog. However- Winston had seen him do this before, he knew that he came back from it(eventually), and his malfunctioning collar had yet to bounce uselessly away... In a minute or so, one particularly active wisp of black and crimson comes together with all around it, circling around and collecting itself. The scientist had fully backed away from the situation to give Reaper the full space he needed to do whatever he was doing, and after a few laps around the equipment, the man reforms in a huff and shudders to the floor. When he seems to be in enough pieces, the collar clicks back on to gather the rest, which is what Reaper /wanted/ but not what was /pleasant/. When he screams in pain, as he did once months before, the door to the hallway him and Jack had entered from slams open; before Winston can think, the aforementioned is beside them and starting a fight with the gorilla with his bare, angry hands. Apparently he hadn't learned to trust the scientist yet at all, having been at the ready outside the whole time.

   “I’m not killing him! I'm NOT KILLING HIM-”, but it doesn't /sound/ like that- Reaper is still crawling on the floor and warbling in suffering. As much as Morrison's instinct is telling him to fight the scientist(which is pitifully ignored by Winston simply raising a massive arm to block what punches he did get in), when Winston backs up and away further, it becomes more pertinent to turn around and lean down to his ghost's side. Jack grips his hand on his back, hauling Reaper onto his kneeling lap. Claws cling to his thighs, sinking into the flesh there to ground himself, but the hurt is accidental. Morrison is fine with this- his head snaps back to the escaping Winston, who can feel the daggers of his eyes stabbing into him from behind the visor. He's desperate to exonerate himself, “I didn't think it would do this..?!”, which is only sort of a lie.

   “Ok, well then what in the hell /were/ you trying to do? Any experiment that ends with this is maybe one you could think twice about doing.”

   The comment makes Reaper heave and laugh in his lap, gargling but not making words. “I mean, alright, he warned me he wasn't feeling well, but he made it sound like he would be fine.”

   “God, were you around Reyes' so little that that sort of answer sounded /fine/ to you? Turn off this damn thing if it's going to tear him apart-”

   “It’s not, it's help-”

   “Is this what /helping/ sound like, Winston?”

   Okay, okay, the concern is, /touching/, Morrison, but he isn't some useless child. Reaper rises from his lap seat, weakly propped on his arms, shaking his head, 'no', and then gently presses his bare and degrading face into Jack's. For a moment the seeming PDA make it awkward for Winston, but in heartbeat it occurs to him, the /mask/. Despite the barking from Morrison when the scientist closes the gap between them, he lopes over to the discarded skull and returns to them with it. Reaper leans into it when he approaches, understanding, letting scientist clip it to his face, and when the mask settles his amorphous frame he lounges back into the lap beneath him, sighing in relief. “See? Everything is fine. Trust me.” Winston is trying to save himself, but the old soldier continues to be unenthused.

   “Don’t be surprised when I'm less inclined to believe you then you'd like.” Gently, he shifts the weaker man to the floor, and moves to confront Winston face to face- but with less fists this time.

   “Morrison, /please/, I am trying to help, but I don't know what's wrong with him! And I need a full spectrum of symptoms to diagnose anything! I hadn't planned for this level of disassembly, but I am happy to have it on record.” The old commander doesn't look like he's entirely thrilled still to have Reyes taken apart like this for the sake of 'science', but sees well enough there's no point arguing about what is already done. Winston was right- they didn't understand this whole plague of Reaper's yet; Jack looks back to him on the floor now, and he's settled onto his back and breathing quietly. Which is different than usual, he isn't curled into an angry ball.

   “Look, here, it can tell me a bit about him already, you can see.” The monitor is reading out composition details. Winston is over Jack's shoulder, reading, and muses out loud, “ .. Nanites? Not surprising....Aaaand ... an undefined power source.” He sighs, tapping at the screen to peruse through other sections.

   “You don't sound encouraged to hear that.”

   “Well, it's a first look, so I can't be too surprised at how vague it is. Undefined power source.”, he repeats, “ It /is/ annoying to hear.”

   “Didn’t you heard my report on how he's fueling himself on excess human energy?”

   “I had heard it, but it... I'm sorry, Morrison, it's really unscientific.”

   “You’ll see it in action, and you'll-”

   “I actually /did/ see it in action. Athena and I hadn't realized it when it was occurring, but when you explained it the way you had the other day, it suddenly made sense. When he was in Mexico, there was a few people he didn't shoot, he just... scared? And roughhoused, and then left. It ended up being extremely handy later- as we were able to shift blame towards Talon for the whole attack. Seeing as how Reaper is a 'bad guy'... You helped too, actually, haa..”

   “Huh? How the hell did I help.”

   “Most of the community thought, thinks Soldier 76 was just as much bad guy, too.”

   “.. Great.”

   “You presented yourself badly.”

   “I didn't try to present myself at all.”

   “Yeah, that's a problem. It's a shame, you used to have excellent showmanship.”

   “Can you blame me for getting' tired of all that.”

   “No, not really I guess. I just would hope.”

   “‘Fraid you'll have to do it all yourself.”

   “Oh, no, not me. That's why I keep Lena around.”, he jokes, it's obvious him and Tracer are equals in their efforts. “... Are you less mad at me now?”

   Jack looks back to Reaper, who /has/ now taken to curling up on his side with the usual angry cat pose. “Now I have to figure out even more what to feed him.”

   “.. I have a plan for that too!”

   “ … Is that right?”

   “I have a few more missions coming up, and I was thinking, if I just kept sending him out.... Well, like I said before, Reaper is a known combatant for less savory people. “

   “Really good to have a fall man, even better to have a unwilling fall man. That's a dangerous game, though. If the public catches you with Reyes, they'll figure out the trick. Didn't you write him down..?”

   “I sort of did, but not really? He's in the filing system, but the normal public doesn't have access to this, and the terminology is all vague. You'd take me for a man who didn't carefully plan everything.”

   “Old habits. I gotta make sure you aren't going to get us all nuked one day.”

   “Well, I guess I /can't/ promise that, but I sure as heck won't make it easy.”

   “You gonna tell me what missions you have going on?”

   “Actually, yes! I have one well and ready to go now, next on my today's to-do list was to get everyone I need together to talk about it. I wasn't going to include you, but I can, it's no secret. We're having our meeting tonight around 18:00. Oh- damnit. I guess I needed Reaper to be there too...”

   When they turn back look at him on the floor, they're surprised to see him rising from it after hearing his name. Jack moves to steel him, but he pushes the offending help away, grunting. “I’m /fine/, idiot.”

   “.. Well good! Were you listening the whole time?”

   “The bit at the end. You mentioned a mission and, it perked my interest.”

   “You’re just looking to get out of the house again.”

   “Can you blame me. You keep tearing me apart, telling me I have to take care of myself.”

   “Well, this should help. Get along now, I'll see you both later tonight.”

\---

   It's uplifting to his mood when Reyes let him into his room when he shifts inside. He'd held his head high while they trekked back to his room, but as the ghost steps through the doorway, his legs buckle beneath him. An attempt is made to shakily lower himself to the bed at the wall, but it's apparent he isn't quite going to make it. Fortunately and unfortunately enough, a quick reflex catches him about the arm, and the waist a moment later. It, at best, saves him from smashing his face directly into bed frame when he trips, but the weight and how hard Reyes' falls is too much to keep them both balanced, an with dual yelps, they're both on the floor now.

   “Well, we're here now.”

   “No thanks to you.”

   “What, you wanted to be on the floor by yourself so badly?”

   “I dunno, maybe you would've just left after seeing me with a broken neck and my ass in the air.”

   “Hmn, according to Winston's 'sciences', you don't even have a neck to break.” Reaper isn't inclined to move from their position, so Jack takes it upon himself to shift them both more prone, laying the lazy one flat so that he might lounge on his back. There was no effort left in trying to drag then both into the bed instead. “So you're not done hanging around by yourself?”

   “I will /never/ be done doing that, but I'm not chasing you out, am I.'

   “I would be coloured surprised if you had the strength to chase me out. Are you sure you're going to be able to do whatever Winston wants you to go do?”

   “I don't have a choice anymore, Morrison. If I sleep it off until we're ready to leave, then.... maybe?” He rumbles beneath him, and sighs.

   “What makes you think you have to do whatever he says.”

   “I /don't/ think that. I think that I'm /hungry/, and that food lives on missions.”

   “Oh, yeah, people outside of here.. like Mexico...” Jack leans back, cracking his spine across the other man. He's beginning to regret not landing on the bed.

   “You actually forgot.”

   “I didn't think about other people.”

   “What, who do you think I was going to eat.”

   “I wasn't sure, whatever we had here.”

   “Still a glutton for punishment.” Reaper barks a laugh, shaking them both.

   “It’s not like that. I just told a lot of people at this point, that I'd be working to get you back in shape. So I was thinking about 'now' solutions."

   “ .. now that I'm thinking about it, I actually do have to do what the monkey says.”

   “Mn? And why is that.”

   “Dunno if I feel like tellin' you.”

   “You’d bring it up, then you won't explain.”

   “I’m just going to owe him after. Maybe. Depends on what he says at the meeting tonight.”

   “If he says what you want him to say, will you tell me then?”

   “If you're as smart as I think you, are, Jack, I won't need to tell you.”

\---

   “As you know, I receive many messages and calls every day asking for our assistance, but a few days ago, I received a message from someone claiming to work for the Vishkar Corporation. Now, we all know what Vishkar is, their work with hardlight technology is known to be a great humanitarian act across the globe.” All accounted for wait for the audible dissension from Lucio, and they are given it in the form of a long, drawn out groan. All are aware of his and Vishkar's beef. “And, to your credit, Lucio, it isn't just you now who seems to have doubts about their legitimacy. This person, who did not give me any sort of name or personal information, claims they want someone to assist them in getting some classified documentation out in the open, so that someone might be able to give them another point of view on the matters. They aren't directly admitting they know any wrongdoing on the part of the company, but are just... curious. If not for what Lucio has informed me of, I would've passed it up for something else, as hunches aren't really good to work with, but I feel, and correct me if I'm wrong, that this is another good chance to test ourselves out.”

   “Well man, you already know what I think about it.”

   “Yes yes, Lucio, you made your opinion well and known when I showed you the email first.”

   Pharah speaks in counterpoint, “But with something so vague, it could easily be a trap. We do not /think/ they know that you now stay with us, but that does not mean they don't. They may suspect that we would send you to relay the information, seeing as you have the most experience dealing with their technicians, and plot to capture you.”

   “That is, my other thought. At first, I did think to send you alone, Lucio.”

   “You know, sending me anyways isn't a bad idea. If it's a trap, then heck, let me at'em. They've tried to trap me before, and it hasn't worked yet. I'm sorry but, I re-eally do not want to give up the chance for top-notch Vishkar sleaze.”

   “I’m impressed you'd actually trust someone who claimed to be from Vishkar at all.” Angela speaks, tilting her head at the younger man.

   “Ma’am, like I said, I do not want to give up the chance. And anyone can change. Sounds like they might not entirely want to, but man, if I could make up someone's mind about Vishkar, someone that close to the beast, it'd be a buff to my ego, too.” He gives her a wink and a snap of his fingers, leaning back back in his chair. “ … But it'd also make it seem like I even got a chance to change the whole thing if I can just help one person.”

   “So, it's a bit about getting information, and a bit about seeing who this person is.” Winston re-enters the conversation, looking about his group of comrades. Lucio, Fareeha, Angela, Mccree, Hanzo, Genji and lazily in the corner, Reaper and Morrison. Maybe less lazy on Reaper's account, but weary. He leans heavy on the wall beside him, but he's paying attention. Probably. Anything he misses about the conversation is claimed by Jack, who keeps all in mind. Winston is surprised to have the older Shimada at full attention, but maybe not as surprised as Hanzo was himself when the Overwatch head asked him to come along in the first place. The two of them, Hanzo and Mccree, had formed some weird impromptu bond since their arrival as well, and though Winston hadn't considered bringing the easy to spot cowboy on this particular mission, he's given the same informational invite as Jack had for Reaper.

   “Aren’t you curious? Just a random Vishkar tech? If it's like, a real Vishkar tech. You know how indoctrinated those guys are? Picked out when they're dang kids.”

   “I am aware of their practices.” Winston's expression wrinkles at the thought. “It is currently, and was on my mind when you started speaking up about the things you knew of the corporation. So you really think it might be an actual technician there?”

   “I’d real badly like to find out. And actually, yeah, after readin' those emails, and the things they know, it does sound like an actual technician.” Lucio's chin is in his hands, big eyes staring up at Winston in optimistic wonder.

   “‘Wanting to find out really bad' isn't exactly the best excuse.” Fareeha has designated herself the voice of reason for this conversation, it seems. “I’m just not sure slander of a known humanitarian organization is the kind of thing Overwatch needs in its rebirthed youth.”

   “It might be if it means saving another poor district from domination. The support you could get from those people, to prove that they're getting' treated so badly. And don't go tellin' me poor people aren't worth getting support from.”

   “I would not think of it.” She stares down at him from the insinuation, but he doesn't back down.

   “I appreciate hearing this from both sides, but.” Winston interjects, wearing a sheepish grin.

   “But you already have made up your mind.”

   “I kind of had. You're a good voice of reason, Ms. Amari, but it does still feel like a better opportunity than it doesn't. And some other things about it have come together nicely- if my Vishkar informant holds up their end of the bargain.”

   “So there's another part of this you ain't told us yet?” Lucio raises an eyebrow, looking between the faces around him.

   “What can I say, I look to multitask when we're on this tight of a schedule. The more pressing reason I've brought you all here is because I'm laying another trap like I had before to catch Reaper.”

   “You fucker.”

   “Aha, yeah. Talon and you fell right for it. I'm hoping they're good enough to fall for this one, too. They have one more big gun I would like to grab sooner rather then later- as they've been busy in Reaper's absence, and before his absence as well. As another good point, last time we went out on a Talon-bothering mission like this, we accidentally were able to shift blame of the event entirely on them- and once again, in Mexico while rescuing you, Lucio, it ended up that Reaper caught all attention, and once again, not-us was blamed. So, I'm thinking, I will be able to structure this in a way, where we can make it seem like it's not Overwatch related at all.”

   “ Three times a charm, you think?” Reaper laughs, shaking his head.

   “I’m hoping I can do it more than three times, but sure, yes. The Vishkar informant says they have figured a way to get the terrorist organization to show its face, and in that, Widowmaker will also appear, and we would be able to apprehend her.”

   “Widow... maker?” Lucio questions, eye squinting. “With a name like that, I don't think she's the kind of lady I'm gonna like.”

   “It’s not about liking her, it's about getting her off the streets. If you want the most recent thing on her list of pains in our butt- from the eyes of Tracer herself, she is the assassin that took out Mondatta Tekhartha, the omnic rights leader.”

   “ .. Wow, that's pretty heavy. How come that ain't common knowledge?”

   “Same reason no one seems to know what 'Talon' is. Some people who are very, very good at their jobs.”

   “Not good enough, apparently, if Tracer saw her do it.”

   “Ha- not even just saw, but gave her a run for her money.”

   Mccree speaks for the first time this evening, “I was wonderin' why Lena wasn't here. Y'think she'd veto the whole project?”

   “.. I feel like she would have some hesitations. She was ok with me bringing Reaper home, but doesn't seem to want anything to do with Widowmaker. Something happened when they got up and personal that she doesn't want to share with me, unfortunately enough.”

   “You think it's a good idea to do it behind Lena's back?” Angela questions, pouting.

   Winston's nose wrinkles at the thought. “Widowmaker is on our list of super criminals. Whether Tracer wants it or not, I am obligated to subdue her. Knowing her, also, she will accept it in time. I'll make it work, I promise.”

   “If you are sure...”

   For a moment, Winston and Reaper exchange a glance. Jack and Angela catch it, having been specifically looking for it, but neither speak. “With that, I'm thinking we'll need to send more people on this one. I need a good distraction, in more than one place, but I'm also looking for discretion. Lucio, you know that you will be spearheading getting into the Vishkar building itself to meet with our informant- but I want Genji to be close behind you. You, you two have met, right?”

   “We have!” The audiophile looks over to the cyborg, giving him to big thumbs up, which are returned to him in turn.

   “I will be glad to fight behind you, my friend.”

   “Alright! Hanzo, are you willing to help us with this?”

   “I’m not doing anything else.”

   “And I hear you're good at keeping a low profile.”

   “Arrows don't make much noise, no.”

   “I’m assuming you'd rather work by yourself, but I'm partial to pairs, so if you'd be willing, Reaper will be behind you.”

   The archer turns towards the dark clad man by the wall. Hanzo can't see his eyes, but they observe each other for a moment. “I will have no problems with this.” He turns to Mccree after he replies, them staring out a silent conversation before Jesse breaks the eye contact and stares to the roof.

   “Reaper?”

   “I’m good if he's good.”

   “Angela? Are you good for back up on this? And Fareeha, I know you expressed not advocating this, but.”

   “Well, you don't have any other medical professionals.”

   “I will remain on the ship as back up with Mercy.”

   “Good! I'll send you all the rest of the written information I have- and this is set to go three days from now. Unless you read through and have any more concerns, all should be in order. You're all dismissed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> widow/reaper are very good 'friends'. i know the mchanzo kind of feels weird and forced but it's being built up in a different fic i'm writing that is behind in the timeline a bit. if you're picky, however, it will probably always feel forced. :Y 
> 
> watch out for that cowboy. 'notice me senpai' he cries quietly from across the room, sobbing into a strangers yukata. the stranger is confused, but touch starved. from an even greater distance, a robot yells something about tranquility, but he's still to far away to hear. a cyborg tries to relay the message, but it's like a game of telephone, and he just ends up telling a dick joke.


	10. ch10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mission statement 1- torture methods get a little strange in old age, spiders are trickier than that
> 
> mission statement 2- you summoned the lasers you fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've had a very busy october, my computer is dying, i've been playing a lot of overwatch on a dying computer, so here. this chapter is way too long and i should cut it in half but i didn't. PLEASE, PLEASE READ THE WARNING. i am grosser than usual at a part. i feel like i have finally used my 'graphic depictions of violence' tag.
> 
> aawww fuck it god damn. did that double space bullshit that mistakes does. why. why is my computer like this.

   Per his request, Jack doesn't bother Reaper for the three whole days between the staff meeting and the mission. Well, mostly doesn't bother. He occasionally walks by his door to listen in on the silence, and once, on a noise he wouldn't previously considered as human. It gets to the point when he thinks Reyes might not step out on the final day- but eases him when on that third day the ghost steps out, looking none worse for wear.

   “Don’t look so worried.”

   “Sounded a bit winded. You're sure you're good for tonight?"

   “Hell, Morrison.” A clawed hand sinks into his hair, mussing it worse than it already rested. “What did I just say. /Quit/, the sentiment.”

   “Fine, fine. You're going to pull all my hair out. Come on, they're probably waiting on you to show up.”

   It's a quiet walk to the helipad. Reaper rumbles more than usual, a deep noise within his chest. Jack doesn't mention it, but it's still nerve wracking.

   “Jack.”

   “What.”

   “I /can't/ die. You know that, right? You understand that?”

   “You say that, but I'm trying to figure how you're so sure.”

   “I guess I can't ask you to just trust me.”

   “No, you really can't.”

   Jack wishes he could see his face in the moment, as the skull facade turns to face him beyond the hood; he keeps the eye contact between the black holes instead. “I don't blame you. Keep not trusting me. If I die, then all this was fake anyways.”

   This is a terrible conversation to have right before a mission. “You can't even pretend to be comforting.”

   “Did I ever?”

   “Better than this.”

   “I can't afford to die. Not yet. Is that what you want to hear?”

   “What do you need to do before you die?”

   “Make sure I'm not a hypocrite.” There's malice behind that, he's meaning it with spite towards what he thinks Jack had done to him in the past.

   “So, if you find Widowmaker, then you'll be good?”

   “Well enough.”

   “ … I'm going to regret to ask you this so you'll be thinking about it on the plane..”

   “Ask anyways, now you've got my interest. And I know how much you've been /loving/ playing psychiatrist with me.”

   “Why would leaving Widowmaker behind make you a hypocrite?”

   It stops their walk abruptly. He feels for a moment that Reyes was just going to punch him there, but instead he seethe back the rage, hisses, “ What kind of question is that.”

   “Tell me, in plain detail, like I'm stupid. Or, an amnesiac.” He teases, Reaper knows he's meaning if /he/ was an amnesiac.

   Reaper grumbles, raises on his feet before him, “Because you left me behind.”

   “I did? Are you sure?”

    “.. /yes/?”

   He hasn't flinched from the wraith's hissyfit before him- instead Jack rests his hands on his hips, staring down the man behind his visor. “When did that happen.”

   “I regret letting you play doctor now, the conversation is over.”-but he continues, ranting, “What, what else do you know, what else would I find leaving someone behind so critically for?”

   “Think about it while you're gone. Don't worry, you'll still be nice and mad at me when you remember. It's still something I did.”

   With physical coaxing, he gets Reaper walking again, the schedule for their arrival running late. At the best he collects himself before approaching Winston and the preparing crew.

   “Oh! You're looking spry.”

   “What did you expect.”

   “Oh nothing, nothing. There's a bit of a change of plans. I was going to go with you, but I have to deal with something else for Genji.”

   “Needy little fuck. Wait, isn't he coming with us?”

   The comment, despite being under his breath, makes Winston roll his eyes. “He still is, I'm going to go pick someone up for him... I was hoping, Morrison.. That you could replace me, maybe? Just, someone watching the monitors for positions, to assist Athena.” After the conversation he forced on Reaper earlier, his shoulders shrug straight up to his ears when he thinks about it. “That looks like a no. I can ask Reinhardt if I need too-”

   “No, no, Winston, actually, I will do it.” He hears the fabric of Reapers hood creak as his head whips towards him. “I need something more to do anyways, I'm getting' cage crazy. Bring Reinhardt out with you to what you're doing.”

   “I was hoping I could do it that exact way, actually.” The Overwatch impromptu head apparently already had this plan in mind.

   “Why don't /you/ go help Genji with what he's doing?” Reaper bites, not wanting to deal with an entire few days with the man after being mocked so fifteen minutes earlier.

   “Ah-a, actually, I'd rather keep this on the down low. There's a touchy subject involved.”

   “You bringing home a different super criminal?”, Jack questions, tilting his head over.

   “ .. A bit of the maybe? If I am, I will be sending out a base message before they arrive, to warn everyone. I'm being told though, they're harmless.”

   “But you aren't going to tell anyone beforehand.”

  “I don't want to worry anyone with something that might not happen. I've told everyone about Widowmaker now, though.”

   “Even Lena?” Reaper questions, tone mocking.

   “Even Lena! She's... Well, like I said. She'll make it work. She's resourceful.”

   The ghost can only reply with a dismissive grunt to that. Jack doesn't understand why he can still be so irritating when bringing Widowmaker home, when an entire huge half of this mission was a /favour to him/, but then again, Reyes didn't even remember why he /started/ hating Jack.

 

\----

 

   Jack counts heads out of habit before they go, naming names on his fingers, waltzing around and checking equipment. Angela teases his diligence, “Now I wish a bit Winston had come just to get some more pointers from you.”

   “What, has he been slacking?”

   “Not on purpose, but you know how it is. No training.”

   Fareeha laughs, “I gave him a good run down from my experience- but he could use some more hard training. Maybe some more appropriate to the kind of situations Overwatch can have. ”

   “I’ll add it to my to-do list.”

   “How long's that list now, boyscout.” Reyes barks from across the room, he's sitting with Lucio- who looks quite a bit more nervous than the rest. Mercy, Pharah, Reaper, Hanzo, Genji, Lucio, and a very irritable Tracer riding pilot seat.

   “Hey, it's still a list, and you're still on the ve-ery top. 'Needy little fuck', was it.” He teases back at him, and the ghost /scoffs/, bringing an offended hand to his chest.

   “I never asked you to babysit.”

   “Babies never ask to get sat.” Reaper froths with annoyance, but settles when Lucio pats a beat out on the ghost's thigh. He can't hear them, he's shut out his ears with large headphones, but he can tell their arguing just based on the posture of the man beside him. “Ok, ok, no arguing before the mission. Tip top shape, right. Overwatch, always on top.”

   That wasn't a good statement to try to settle Reaper with. “Hardly. I, by myself, will remain on top, /thank you./”

   Jack can't help but shake his head and laugh, he doesn't answer the ghost anymore, and Reaper seems content to relax back with Lucio. The Shimada's are in the corner, having their own quiet conversation in a foreign tongue- but when Morrison barks them for roll call, Genji replies with experience, and Hanzo follows in imitation.

   “Still remember what we're doing today? You and Lucio,” he points in Genji, who nods, “Into the Vishkar facility for data pick up. No kill, no 'caught' situation, unless you get Talon. They shouldn't be inside the building, just outside.” It's easy to settle Genji, he knows the cyborg well, having commanded him for years. The brother, however, looks a bit like a deer caught in the headlights. Jack slides up beside him, and Genji pretends not to listen to the conversation- but he's right beside them, and Morrison doesn't ask him to leave. “You just bored, son?”

   “.. Sure? What else was I doing?”

   “You’re going in with a hard ass who had problems focusing. Are you still fine with this? He's going to command you, but you'll probably need to be a voice of reason.”

   “I will figure it out. I'm good at that.”

   Jack smiles, giving him a quiet, comforting chuckle. “This is an awful lot of work for you out of boredom. Did Jesse influence your decision?”

   The archer doesn't reply immediately, he glances to his brother who still refuses to acknowledge them. “He did not want me to go. He does not trust your Reaper.”

   “Me neither. But, I'm going to trust you. Don't put your life in danger. Hell, don't put your skin in danger. If he looks about ready to get you two hurt or killed, bail. I won't hold it against you.”

   Genji replies then- but not in English- 'Mccree' sticks out in the middle. It makes Hanzo expression fall, his glance pressing to the side. “If he does, then he does. I will not sacrifice myself.”

   With a solid pat to the shoulder, Morrison rises again and wanders back to the two women, deigning to sit with them for the rest of the duration of their long trip.

\---

   It is a warm night in Rio de Janeiro. He thinks for a moment that they'll run into some problems at the port they're landing in, but Winston and Athena insisted it would be fine, and sure enough, it's as if there's a plan for them to be there. Jack wishes a bit that Winston would've given him more information and more time to work with, but he's done missions more risky and more on the fly than this before, it's just /been a while/, he feels rusty. Whoever had contacted them was very much keeping up their end of the mission, at least. Athena reports less guards to the Vishkar building than usual, some being as far and distracted off site by a force more threatening than Overwatch's own.

   “What could our informant have even done to grab Talon's attention?” Jack muses to Reaper, whom was sharing a look over the plans while Genji had a nice pep-talk with Lucio.

   “Eh, lots of garbage. Information, probably. That's really easy. God, I can hear the boss in my head, 'Real Vishkar Tech up for the taking, it's an opportunity we cannot pass up.' Opportunity,” He barks an irate laughs, mocking someone Jack had never heard before. “They bait real good. They want everything.”

   “Sounds about right.”

   “I’m getting worried about our informant.”

   “You get worried? About a /stranger/, even.”

   “They’re stickin' their neck out too far.” It's like Angela had said before. In the hull of the ship, and in the face of work, the 'Reyes' part of Reaper flicks on like a light switch. “Make sure Genji is on top of it. I'm seeing things line up here, the likelihood of this turning into an extraction is very, very high.”

   “Is it?” Morrison tilts his head at the screen, sweeping over words. “This is more like old Blackwatch, huh.”

   “Everything this new 'Overwatch' has done so far is more Blackwatch than anything else. They haven't done a single 'Overwatch' thing yet. You know how I know that?”

   “Hmn? How do you know that?”

   “‘Cause it ain't plastered with a fucking boy scout all over the tv, papers and pages.” Reyes punches him, bitter but teasing.

   Jack nods anyways. “I guess that's true.”

   Reaper stands with a growl, stretching, “Well, the time has arrived, boys. Everybody out.” He shakes his body when Athena releases him, and he tromps up beside Hanzo, who Jack is still surprised to be completely calm and collected about the situation.

\---- 

   Hanzo makes himself a very dependable man to keep around. He listens well, keeps on your tail, watches all corners with hawk like proficiency. It reminded him terribly of his brother, Genji, but even more focused. Maybe 'focused' is the wrong word- Genji was very, very coordinated on the job, responsive. Regardless, he knew well enough not to compare the two out loud, even with them apparently setting to make amends for attempted fratricide.

   Morrison is falling into the oldest habits as well, and keeps clean tabs on the locations of all. Lucio went out first, a part of the plan to flush out the Talon that was supposed to be hidden at the location. They can all hear each other while they work, in case someone needs to fall back and assist, but, so far so good. Hanzo and Reaper have relocated to a rooftop to keep watch. The archer nearly startles when Reaper's head flicks to the side, picking up a movement he missed to the left. All in black, armed. A deep rumble pits from his lungs when he can claim quite quickly to their informants claims- it /is/ Talon. Apparently even more of a 'treat', the wraith explains to his confused companion, it is someone he knows- not who they are after, but someone who will lead them to their goal.

   The enemy travels in packs of two- low guard, unsuspecting. It would be like them not to take a job seriously enough. To be double sure, he has Athena and Morrison do a scan for the radio signal he knew Talon used. Sure enough, as described, Talon is at the least, acting a part. Pairs off in twos, doing rounds. The base of operations is about two kilometers off from them, and Widow was certainly there, but absolutely surrounded.

   “You’re a good shot, right?” Reaper chuffs into his comm, whispering from a few feet away to his companion.

   “Which one.”

   “Your left, armor is weak in the shoulder and the high neck.” He points to himself with clawed digits where he means- way up by the jaw and in below the shoulder joint itself. It would be hard to be deadly there. “Incapacitating is all I need, if you can get lefty by the neck and righty by the shoulder, I'll be down before they can call.”

   Hanzo nods and knocks an arrow, the other held spare in his hand, and waits for the two below to come to a full stop before firing in quick succession. Reaper is extremely satisfied to see the craftsmanship in his work, never suspecting that archery would still have its merits in this day and age. In a motion as he described it, he falls from the roof in time with the arrows- and with the silent nature of them both, the two are entirely caught off guard. While one sputters on the ground, injured from his neck, the other is crushed from Reaper's forming weight before he has time to call in his troubles. Even if he had the gumption in him to reach his radio now, the enemy is greeted with a sharp pang of electricity and static- it's a trick Winston gave Reaper; and once, a long while ago, it was used on him as well.

   Hanzo slips down alongside and ends the man at their feet them with a rough but calculated removal of his arrow. The other man, whom Reaper was far more interested in, whines for a moment about the foreign body shoved into the joint of his arm- but he's rightly distracted when Reaper forms and fogs above him, claws gripped around his coat collar and hauling him into the air.

“Caidan! Did you get a promotion? You're looking more in charge then you have any right too.”

   The other man gives him a solid kick to the thigh, but Reaper is unconcerned. “Fuck you, traitor. What do you think you're doing, who do you even think you are-” but he's caught off guard again, shaken violently in Reaper's grip, before he rips the arrow from its spot nestled in the meat of his shoulder. It shuts him up good and well with a yelp of pain, and the wraith turns his attention to Hanzo, who was casually making sure the man on the floor was doing his task of becoming dead. The archer looks up at his comrade with idle curiosity, Reaper finds it handy he seems to have no sympathy for Talon agents. Maybe he has no sympathy for anymore. If he was Reyes, he might ask him to elaborate on the apathy. For now, it was convenient, especially with this man.

   After checking in with Jack, the two of them drag their captive off too an abandoned building, barking away the few homeless that hid, and appropriating a chair for his purposes. The man, whom Reaper had spoken as 'Caidan', fights the whole way, but it no match to the brutal strength in the wraith's rage. Hanzo barely has to assist, and instead watches the door, listens in on the Talon comm he stole from the body he stowed in the corner. Check in is in fifteen minutes, no one seems to notice their commanding officer and his escort have fallen from the radar. Stripped of his armor, helmet and gloves, the aforementioned Talon combatant is tied to a wooden chair with his own paracording. The chair is wooden and fragile, but he's knowing now that he's outnumbered and out powered. There's a part of him that grasps at the idea that if he plays the cards clean enough, the 'Reaper' won't kill him at the end. It's a very fruitless thought. The Reaper and he have... history.

   It starts with him resting clawed digits on the captive's lap, gently sticking into the fabric there. “I told them, told them you wouldn't ever have it in you to lead successfully. That your pure, thoughtless brutality was without skilled command.”

   “Like you can speak down about being brutal.”

   “I never said I /wasn't/, but, somehow I still managed to have the upper hand here?”

   The man raises his lips in a snarl, biting softer teeth then Reaper's own. “Look at you, working for your worst enemy. You always said, you wanted to watch Overwatch fall, but look at you now. Some dirty, collared dog.” He receives more sharp indents to the legs for his dissension. Unaffected, “ What, you have me tied up here now just so you can feel you have, or ever had some semblance of control in your life?”

   The wraith turns his head up to the ceiling, mulling it over. “No, I'm here because you're going to bring me Widowmaker.”

   Caidan seems confused at the request, then /laughs/. “Are you shitting me? What, does Overwatch think they can just get away with picking off all our weapons? I heard enough shit after /you/ went and disappeared. Why do you even give a fuck about what that creature is doing without you?” His tone turns mocking, sneering at the other, leaning forward in his chair. “You were already gone for so long, I'm certain she /hates/ you now.” Reaper leans down more now, leveling his face with the other man’s hands. A claw wraps around the digits, and presses his pinky backwards. There's no lack of awareness to what the Reaper was doing, but he bares down his jaw, bites down as it hyper extends and cracks, drooling to stop himself from screaming. When he speaks again past the pain, his voice cracks, “What makes you think I even have any control of where she is or what she's doing, what makes you think she's even here?”

   “I see your badge, I know your command. I know you would never give up a chance to command her again in my leave. If you're here, she's here, and I know it.” He toys with the wounded digit for a moment before pulling it back down harshly, realigning it as it should be- though Caidan doesn't make a noise of comfort from the rough handling.

   “You never told me why you even cared. She doesn't care about you.”

   “You’re a /fool/. She /contacted me/. Past all your barriers and restrictions, you couldn't hold a fly in your hand, let alone a spider. No matter how badly you think you've beaten the dogs, they will always, always bite, eventually.... bite.” The word repeated sends pangs of dread through the captive's spine, with how close Reaper's face sat near the becoming abused fingers of his. Sure enough, he's given himself an idea. A beautiful idea. Hanzo desperately tries to keep his focus on the door and windows, but he can't help but turn an eye backwards to the event taking place inside. Ten more minutes.

   After a moment of permission asking to Athena, he removes his mask and allows his dark and crimson gaze to settle upon the other man's, eyes wide and threatening. Claws tapping against his forearm in forewarning. “I’ll turn your comm back on, and you can tell Widowmaker to come here for assignment.”

   “ I already know what you want to do, so I'm just going to say this while I have the chance, and it's /bite me/, you fucking freak.” It was a prime time to make a pun, sure, but Reaper doesn't appreciate it. He bares those teeth of his, that mouth full of fangs- Caidan swears they grow when spreads his jaw before him. He's seen these teeth before, avoided those teeth before. Even when he struggles away from the approach, it's far too late for that now; he can't choke back a whine when Reaper forces his fingers together and rests them against his bottom jaw. He aims to cut them down at the ends, leaving the ends up to the first knuckle. Never in his time in Blackwatch, despite all his time with, ahem, 'interrogation', did he ever think about biting off a man's fingers. It's something he can hold up entirely to Reaper, and his apparent wants and needs. Sure enough when he thinks about it, biting was something that came naturally to him at Talon- but was coerced out of him over time. Coerced? How? Beat. Beat out of him, when he thinks of times he might've fought out against his captors- his /captors/, Talon, not Overwatch, holding him and using him painfully as a prisoner.... Silently, the bound man watches as his expression goes from moderate confusion to blind rage- his pupils blow out black, lining the red edges barely visible. What gears had just turned in his head were unknown to the bound man, but it couldn't be any good for his health in the coming future. He sinks his teeth into the ungloved flesh.

   The cartilage between the joints of his fingers crack and fray under the stress of a jaw much sharper and stronger than any normal man- Reaper regrets, almost, how easily it gives way under him. When he pulls back his head, the loosened digits pull free with him, and no effort is given to stop his captive from thrashing and screaming now. After a moment he thinks better of that, and he muffles it, but with a clawed hand and with an occupied mouth, it doesn't work very well. Out of something's instinct, he snaps the bloodied remains in his jaws like a dog, crunching the bones between his teeth; but feels a bit of hot embarrassment when he looks over to Hanzo- who refuses not to bear witness to this. However the older Shimada gives him a dismissive wave, still outwardly apathetic to the dead man's methods. He motions with his fingers, '7', 7 minutes.

   He fights past the metal claws, thrashing around from the assault, “Fuck you! You act like what Talon did to you, did to fucking her, is any god damned different then where you are now! You act like you're so fucking high and mighty, but you're a dog, and you'll always be a dog. Nobody even knows your name, nobody will ever know your fucking name-”

   Reaper slides upwards to his face, his own bloody and slowly evaporating, before upending the chewed digits on his chest. “I’m going to turn your comm back on, and you're going to tell Widowmaker to come for you for assignment.”, he repeats, calmly.

   “Fuck- fine, fine. Just do it.” Reaper's nose wrinkles at how easily he gives up now, only after losing just some of his fingers, but whatever. They are on a time limit, no matter how much he wishes he could sew this man apart and together for hours. With a motion of Winston's device, the comm clicks back on. “This is Commander Caidan”, and he waits for the betrayal with expectancy, “ Widowmaker, respond.”

   Hanzo listens quietly on his own, closes his eyes when he hears a soft female voice reply, “Caidan. Your signal is not where it should be.”

   “Reaper is on site, you are under full direction to kill or reaffirm him within Talon ranks. There has been a breach.”

   “Yes sir.”

   “That’s /not/ what I told you to say.”

   “Like hell it wasn't.” The captive man spits in his face, hissing, “You told me to give her a mission and I god damned did. Now fuck off before she shows up and blows you and your fuckin' little friends heads off.”

   Delicately, Reaper wipes the spit from his face- and some of the blood, wiping it down on the other man's shirt. “What? Do you think I'm just going to leave you here? Injured, but alive?”

   “You know for a fact you can't do shit to me. You can't kill me.” Brashly, he laughs, breaking past the pain and growing blood loss to continue mocking him. With a wave, Reaper beckons over his mission partner, who with hesitation joins them.

   “You’re not wrong. I don't have a god damned idea why, but I can't seem to even visualize killing you. The mistake is in that /I'm not working alone/, now am I.” He turns to the other man, who inspects the damage done with his arms crossed. “Now, forgive me for mentioning your brother, but the younger Shimada had some.. pretty brutal methods back in the day of Blackwatch.” Caidan shrinks again at the mention of his surname, 'Shimada'. The Shimada clan. The dragons. “Would you do me this favor? Something long lasting, if you could.”

   “You’ll have to owe me for it later.” Cold, he gives Caidan the benefit of eye contact for a moment, a chance to beg silently, judging him. “Other than the obvious 'Talon' issue, what say this man deserves such a fate?”

   “Yeah, Reyes'. What did I ever do worse then what /you did/ to deserve the /honor/ of this.”

   “Thought you said no one knew my name. What, Caidan, do Talon have family? Friends? Comforts? Do you fear death while you share it with all who oppose you?”

   “And what would /you/ ever know about family.” It apparently presses a good button in him, and the man receives a solid punch of the face, crushing the bone of his nose beneath a steel fist. Blood gushes from it instantly, him injured and sputtering a cold laugh beneath.

   Reaper closes in on his face, hoarse but loud in his ear, “I had a family. Now I don't. I have nothing, nothing to /fear/~”, before returning up to the archer to clear his doubts. “You wouldn't just take my word for it, just this once.”

   “I could, but then you might owe me a bigger favour later.”

   “Let it come, then. I'll owe you the world if you can show me good suffering.”

   “Fuck you.”

   “At this rate, you'll make those words lose all meaning.”, Hanzo mumbles, leaning down beside him in his chair, and settles a balled fist in his midsection. The Shimada pushes back his torso from his pained curl, aiming for a spot in particular. It's a single solid jab, but it leaves their captive breathless and teary eyed; instead of crying in pain again, he simply leans forward heavy in chair, legs seizing from their bound position. “... The comms are going quite active now, we have to be going. Lucio is returning from his mission, but it went somewhat poorly.”

   “Alright, tell me more on our way out. Bye bye, Commander~.” Reaper taunts once more for sport, placing his mask on again. It's apparent, however, that the man left behind was in no way fit to receive or respond to such. Such beautiful, ninja skills.

   They're quite a way away when they feel safe enough to converse again, and with his comm back on(he didn't want to force anyone to listen to him torture a man, though once on Hanzo's end they heard the screaming), he asks Hanzo and Jack for a mission update. The latter replies while the archer scours the roofs and widows for signs of movement. “Lucio has the informant on the minicarrier right now, and we're waiting for you up high. Have you seen Widowmaker?”

   “I’m sure she's following us. Wait, we're taking the informant home? I thought they wanted to stay with Vishkar.”

   “Something went wrong, they was caught and her life was put in danger. Lucio made the executive decision to bring her aboard, but she's wounded.”

   “So, I should get to hurrying up.”

   “It would be nice, but Angela is here, so. If you need a bit more time to lure your target out, you take it.”

   In that moment, he feels the archer violently grip his jacket and tug them both into a corner. “Up, up there, I saw. She's on the roof, staring down. She will shoot if you move.”

   “Well, she'll move to shoot us if we stay, too, she's good like that. Hey, Hanzo. Quick question.”

   “Is this really the time.”

   “Yeah. Why'd you come on this mission?”

   “.. because I was asked too?”

   “Who asked you.”

   “Winston?”, his voice is hushed and hurried, him peeking out an eye to spot. She hasn't moved.

   “No, not Winston.”

   “If you are implying that the cowboy had something to do-”

   “I never said that at all, but since you brought it up...”

   “To be honest with you, when I said I would, he was extremely apprehensive. He did not trust you at all with my life, or anyone's life.”

   “Oh, huh. Well, I'm sure he's listening on the comms, or you'll just tell him all about this later, won't you.”

   “If you want me too? I would call tonight's adventure, very much including this moment, to be very incriminating against yourself.”

   “I’m not going to get you shot. I'm going to get /me/ shot.”

   “.. W- that's not better!”

   Jack break in with a bark, “Do not, I repeat, do /NOT/ get yourself shot.”

   “Quiet, Morrison, trust me. I'm already dead. I get shot all the time. And sometimes, you just have to put your foot in the water, and put a little...~trust~, in someone.”

   “You are going to try to persuade her not to shoot? Come quietly, maybe?”

   “I’ll try. It isn't going to work, and I know it won't. Do me a favor- you're a good shot, right?” He turns to Hanzo again, gripping him on the shoulder.

   “You’ve seen that I am.”

   “Shoot her back- in the /arm/, entirely non-lethal, please. Maybe up by the shoulder where she braces her weapon.”

   “.... I am a good shot, but this is a fair distance.”

   “Eh, I trust you. You'll figure it out. You won't catch her if you chase, though.” In a final nail in his very bad plan, he comms specifically to Athena, “Athena, do me a favour. Once I get shot, when I'm down flat on the ground, turn my collar back on, and do /not/ turn it off. No matter what I say.”

   “ .. Alright, Agent Reaper.”

   “ .. faith in someone.”, Jack mumbles, and Hanzo feels a bit out of the loop. In his confusion, he doesn't in time grab Reyes when he takes a step out from behind the corner, arms spread wide.

   He speaks loudly, clearly. “Amelie, come down here. You don't want to do this the hard way. Even when you do though, when you do this the hard way, I won't hold it against you. I'll come back. Ok?”

   Silence. For a moment, he thinks, but alas.... Gunshot. He feels it tear into his chest instantly- it's more like shoving a red hot bar through him, through the heart. Something different about the bullet- it actually sticks, it tears apart the matter he calls flesh and strips them of their ability to reform instantly in the wake of metal. It's what he expected, they explode with electricity, numbing his senses there. However, he knows well enough one shot will not do him in, or even prove to incapacitate him. It's the second blast that rips through his skull that leaves the ghost crumpling at his knees- he falls to the concrete with a dull thud. For a moment though, before the world turned sharp and burning, he hears /her/ cry out, an arrowing following in turn when she leans forwards to take the headshot.

   He feels himself lifted. Dragged. Screaming past unconsciousness, he blindly puts his feet beneath him, and steps forwards in time with being dragged. It's extremely distressing to poor Hanzo to pull around the semi headless man to the emergency pick up- but some of it is still there, and he's making a weird, garbling effort to lift himself. More distressing things have occurred in the archers life than this- but it's top tiered on his most recent list. It's probably top two of his all-time ' distressing bullshit' meter.

   Jack forces Tracer to land the minicarrier in a space just barely enough to hold it and in not enough hiding to make it sneaky. They're taking on fire from Talon before they know it, but he's too occupied saving his two men before they become even more perforated the Reyes' had made himself. It takes them less than a second to board when Genji slips off and nearly tosses them both into the open door- he's on his brother in an instant with concern and comfort- the side that was used to carry the ghost to the transport was coated in splatters of thick, black goo that crawled against his skin. Not necessarily on purpose, Reaper drops unceremoniously to the floor, where from the hole in his chest, and the growing gape in his face, expels more of that same liquid. It links back thick to each wound, seeming to attempt at crawling back to its host with no success. So much for being 'fine', Jack would taunt his friend again if he felt there was any talking to him at all- but instead he jumps down from his place in the cockpit, discarding his visor and placing his hand on his back in test.

   There is no surprise when the wraith hisses, gurgles, shies away from the touch, but Jack keeps trying, chases him in a corner before Reaper accepts any comfort without complaint. He eases down to the floor, legs still curled and close beneath him. By accident, they've wandered into the medical section of the vehicle, and Mercy can only stare with an expression of shock at the wounded while he bleeds black fluid and vapour. Her injured patient beside her, an equally startled east Indian woman, is barely comforted when the doctor speaks, “ .. How am I not surprised that, when hunting for a sniper, that he would get shot.”

   “Damnit, Mercy, is this really the time for joking.”

   “You know what, Jack, I feel like it is. I heard the comm, he said he would be fine.” she walks over, quietly, kneeling down beside him while he settles quietly into the floor. When she rests a hand on the fogging wound of his head, he starts up again- speaking, maybe? It's hard to tell past the injury, he garbles his words, it sounds far from English. “.. Is he saying something?”

 

   Jack bows down low beside him, ear to head, and whispers, “Reyes?... Gabriel?”

   Reyes' words get louder now, barking, before at the pressing hand of Angela, he settles once more. “Ah, he isn't speaking English... Spanish, maybe?”

   The woman from the cot to the corner speaks, “He’s speaking French.”

   Dr. Zeigler perks up, looking over to her patient. “What? Why would he be... What is he saying?”

   She looks suddenly sheepish now, eyes veering to the side. “Forgive me. I do not think you want to know.”

\--- extra ---

   “We got this. We got this, right, Genji? My man?” Lucio is hard on his heels, scoring into the dirt floor beneath them as the carrier floats back into the sky.

   The Cyborg lays a hand on his cohort, reaffirming; he laughs lowly, “Have you not done this before? I could have sworn I had read, this exact building, even, you had broken into.”

   “This is true, I have. Was nervous then, nervous now. Keeps you on your toe, y'know.”

   “Yes, I do know. Maybe, though, you're thinking a bit too much. I am with you.”

   “Yeah but, that almost makes it worse?”

   “How so?”

   “‘Cause I only had to watch out for my own butt before, and I'd really hate if something happened to you, or anyone. Feels weird, havin' a whole bunch of people behind me. I mean, I know a lot of people before were 'behind' me, but not like.. literally. Ah, I'm rambling.”

   “A little, but it's fine, I am not bothered. Come though. The time has arrived, you may not see me, but I will be with you the entire way.” With a physical shove, he sets the audiophile off towards the back entrance he had been instructed to come in from. In his memory, it's the same door he took to break in before. A part of him wonders if their informant knows this, and is setting them up there for the irony of it, or that it literally just is the least guarded door.

   Breath in, breath out. He tests the lock for a moment, laid flat against the wall- and the door pulls open with a creak. There's a light streaking the ground from inside, but it's a bit darker then he would have expected. Genji is up on a nearby wall- he's breaking in from a window instead of the direct method. Again, Lucio opens the door, entirely this time, and creeps inside; he bites in tongue not to yelp when he's immediately accosted by a woman, who without warning, grabs him up the arm and tugs him into a small break in the walls. They're uncomfortably close, and she has a good few inches of height on him, even with the skates. She seems completely unaffected by this, and stares golden daggers into him. Please be the informant. Please, please, puh-lease be the informant. She holds her hardlight prosthetic high and close to them, but doesn't appear to be using it to form anything deadly.

   “They truly did send you. I had suspected, but...You have been with Overwatch, Lucio Correia dos Santos...” She speaks his name with hostility, and knowing.

   “.. I woulda thought he'd mentioned that, Winston.”

   “He did not, safety issues and so forth. Maybe he did not think I would trust you.”

   “Do you trust me now?”

   “No. But it's too late for that. Come.” She peeks around the corner, waiting for something, before pulling out and tugging him along without mercy. Struggling to keep up, it takes a few strides before he can skate alongside her without feeling pushed- he's impressed the pace she keeps up with heels, and how well she keeps them quiet on the polished floors.

   “W-whoa what wait, what's your name even, where are you taking me?”

   “What does my name that matter? I'm taking you to a server terminal. It will know I have taken the data moment after I have, there was no way to obtain it early. You will take the drive and flee.”

   “ .. O-ohkay wait, what does that mean for you. That can't-”

   “I can /take care of myself/, thank you. Who do you take me for, setting this up this far, but a fool enough to sacrifice later.” Her voice is coated with constant displeasure, Lucio can't help but feel embarrassed in her grip. She's right though. There's no guard here, and have been no guard the entire way of their journey. They pause, start, take weird turns with precision and exact timing- a real Vishkar architect. A marvel of born intelligence molded by years of oppressive education. If he didn't feel like at any moment she would turn around and destroy him, he might be more starstruck. Even then, he remembers what he'd thought of before- this real life Vishkar tech, betraying her company despite all that. He's very glad she isn't looking back at his wide eyed staring.

   “ … I feel like I might ruin the mood, but thank you, man.” He speaks low in a moment where they lay in wait.

   She doesn't respond immediately, face blank in response, but golden eyes dart to him after a few moments of thought. “This /isn't/ for /you/.”

   “You can say that, but it is a real help for me. If it's as bad as you think it is.”

   “I don't think anything about it. It is just logical to have a second opinion. Just as well, this could be nothing, and you will have risked your life and resources for an idle thought- and would that not be dreadful.”

   “Man, sometimes you gotta waste your time, you can't expect everything to run perfect every time.”

   “Yes, yes I can.” Before he can continue, she pulls him again- he remembers the layout, vaguely, and they're close to at least where he thinks they are headed. No sign of Genji in their midst, but he said he might not be seen. The idle chatter in his comms are of the other mission group, Reaper and Hanzo, having started their own journey. Lucio remembers maybe if he should ask how she's managed to get Talon where they wanted them, also, but could only expect to hear a reply of 'because I know what I'm doing' instead of a substantial response.

   A final corner leads them to a computer filled room, dark, save for one lit up screen in the semi center. He slides into place behind her, idling on his skates. The architect works in silence, and apparently, very quickly, because they're hardly there for three minutes before she slips out a small drive and shoves it at him- “ Go, now, back where you came from. You remember the way?”

   “Yeah, I remember the way from the first time. Are you sure you're-”

   “Go, get, get gone, before the alarm hits, /go/.” She's shoving him, violently, back towards the door- and while he turns to flee in her urgency, someone else is at the door out already- a tall man, who stands more like a disappointed father- with his hands on his hips, shaking his head and tsk'ing. The woman looks up just in time to freeze and stare, like a deer in the headlights, while the man takes a walk around the long way of the room, ending up at the back, in the dark, glowing faintly from a weapon in his hand.

   “Satya, there was signs of a disturbance, but I would have never, ever expected that you were the cause. What happened?” He even /sounds/ more like a disappointed father, mentioning her dismissively by name.

   She doesn't have an answer for him, eyes flicking between the computer and him- desperately seeking the flaw in her plan. Where it went wrong. The other man is herding them now, towards the door, but neither of them give any ground- Lucio, because he is headstrong and about ready to give him a run for his money, and the woman, Satya, because she is stuck in her place from confusion. For her, the audiophile responds, “Yeah well it looks like you took too many cookies from the cookie jar, didn't you.” Lucio readies his blaster to shoot, but it gets pushed down in his hands, she breaks from her frozen state to stop him, and leans in hurried and close.

   “Stop- do not hurt him, he does not mean to.. He's just doing his job.”

   “How can- you're going to defend him, while we're like this? He's going to try to kill us.”

   “Satya, please, I would /never/ try to kill you. This man has you confused, he's broken in before, he thinks he's /so righteous/. He doesn't understand the true nature of things.” The man approaches now, Lucio is flicking his eyes between the two of them in desperation. Genji is nearby. Right? There was still no call from him on the comms- though instead he's treated to something nerve wracking, because of what else is happening on Hanzo's end that sounds none too pretty.

   “Satya, I don't know you, and I will never stop being a pain in Vishkar's ass, but you know I'm here for a reason. You knew you wanted to give me something because you thought it wasn't right.”

   Their eyes lock for a moment- first, the stranger and her's, and then after a moment, Lucio's and hers. The silence is broken by computer thrums and her swallowing, dryly, before flicking back to the stranger. “Sanjay, I...” She stops. Quickly, she whispers sidelong to him, “You, Lucio. There will be turrets outside- they track movement, lock on, but stay in place until they are done with their target. I will go out first, and then you will flee afterward."

   “Wait, what?.. No? I'm not leaving you behind now.”

   “You will leave me or you will die.”

   “Satya- If I leave you, /you'll/ die.”

   “If it is, then it is.”

   The man is bridging the gap between them now in the room, readying his weapon- they spoke hushed and he missed exactly what they were speaking of- but knew that he wasn't winning her favour in the situation. “Remember, when this is all said and done, that you made me do this, and that you made the wrong choice, Satya.”

   She's already turned around and hopping over a table to rush the door before Lucio can argue any longer- and before the man can fire a completely charged shot, he bounces him backwards into the desks with a concentrated charge of sound of his own.

   Speeding towards the door immediately after, he still hopes to catch her, but it's no use. There's four streaks of hot laser that pull from either side of the door, and while she catches two with her prosthetic, one grinds through a leg while the other crawls up her midsection. As she said, when he blasts past her, they ignore him for what they already have- but he remembers dealing with these things before. They're fragile as all hell- and he turns on heel in a moment to shoot each down. Hit for only three or so seconds, but it's seared her leg to hell. She fully expects for him to continue running from there, and relaxes to the ground to wait for her fate, but gets a full startle when he feels Lucio pulling her back up from the floor with a huff. “No, you have to /leave/-”

   “Well I'm not leaving without you, so you're going to have to keep me going.” The architect wants to argue with him, but he was always stubborn, /and/ stupid, so she hauls herself up, painfully- both her injured leg and injured midsection are on the same side, so it made supporting her weight tricky. It's surprising to her when he hadn't lied about knowing full well how to escape how they came. Two minutes into their escape, however, an alarm sounds, and from an apparent thin air, Genji appears.

   “Whoops, well, that went well for you, didn't it.” Without warning, he replaces Lucio at the woman's side, taking an entire step further, and hauling her onto his shoulders. There's a bark of protest, but if he hadn't asked first, it was obvious that he knew was going to to what he was going to do. It was easier this way, anyways, she was slow on her leg and the man didn't seem to be weighed down by her at all. Man? Omnic? Extremely armoured fellow? She'd ask later. It isn't the time.

   “Holy hell man, I was wondering if you were still god damn here.” Genji can't remember a time he'd heard Lucio swear so much, but how can he blame him under stress.

   “I told you I would be. Did you not trust me? Here, this way, the door you came from it no longer good, but I made a path that is.”

   “Good to know, I guess I'm not surprised by that. God, Reaper was totally right.”

   “Was he?”

   “He said we'd be bringing someone home, for sure.”

   “Are we kidnapping her?” He nods to the prone woman, she seems awfully calm for kidnapped.

   “Uh.. A little? She... It's hard to explain. I'll go over it when we get there. She got a little.. uh..” He glances to the burning on her leg. It's bleeding past the tissue cauterization. She's wearing an expression unconcerned to her injuries- she looks more inconvenienced by the awkward carry. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug. “ Let’s just think about us all not being dead together on the plane first.”

   “Very good plan, my friend!” Hell, Genji's door is even faster than Lucio's was, but the woman makes a noise of discontent at the unconscious body guards left in the cyborgs wake. “What, did you expect I had lured them away with candy? No one is dead, except a few Talon outside. You hired on Talon for guarding, that was a bold move. Shh, you can argue with me about it later, relax back down or you'll fall off.”

   With Genji's guidance, they're gone before back up arrives to even notice where they've gone off too- and the spot Satya had saved for them to land earlier was still clear for the minicarrier to pick up. Genji passes the woman off on Mercy, who picks at her instantly with soft words in her native tongue. Ah, well, at least they did appear to have a medical professional. Lucio had upgraded since their last meeting- it's a shame he did not seem to remember it. Maybe it's the clothes she's wearing- she’s in her business outfit instead of her streamlined 'Symmetra' clothes. Her poor, ruined outfit. Heavy on her uninjured leg, the architect struggles to keep balance while the doctor looks her over. The mechanically inclined man returns again after a conversation with someone on their communicators, slipping under her arm and encouraging her over to an expected pseudo infirmary in the back of their transport. The pain is setting in. She finds herself weak at the knees, even the uninjured, shaking in the strain. The medic speaks in her ear, quietly, while they lay her down, “What’s your name? Allergic to anything?”

   “Satya Vaswani, nothing medical.” The carrier lifts gently into the sky, but it's still nauseating- the doctor lets her readjust to the pressure before resuming.

   “I am Doctor Angela Ziegler, or Mercy, if we're going to go by Overwatch petnames. Are you our little guide?”

   “I was.”

   “Are you here willingly?” Satya knows what she's doing, she's just asking questions to pass the time. She can't complain, the doctor set to the burns to her side immediately, working with far more practiced skill then she had seen in any other. A skill set of focus to admire.

   “Not exactly.”

   “So you were not swayed by Lucio's appeal?”

   “He has not decided to try and sway me yet. Your.. your, that man who is very augmented, he blew a warning measure and got us caught in the meantime of data transfer.”

   Genji is still nearby. He throws his hands up defensively as Mercy looks up at him, lips pursed. “Did he now.”

   “I did nothing of the sort, I heard and saw nothing in my infiltration.”

   “Trust me, you did. Just something small, only Sanjay would be the type to go looking for. It was enough. It doesn't matter now.”

   “I apologize if this is my fault, then.”

   “I should not have expected you all to act flawlessly.”

   In a few minutes, with only a short second of warning, the carrier drops from the sky. Angela has barely enough time to get her fingers out of a wound before they fall- she bares onto the both of them with an annoyed cry. When they pick up their last two- one having become violently injured somehow, they're back up in the air just as brutally- she hears the gunfight slam against the shielded frame. Such grace.

   It's the icing on the cake when a man crawls in on the floor, oozing black. She knows this man, having seen him before in files. Sleep drifts over her head before she can really take in the sights, but he speaks a bit. It's hard to gather what he means, she wonders how he speaks with a hole that big in his face anyways. What a painful sort of existence he must have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't decided yet if symettra/lucio is going to get it's own fic, because i dont have anything for them to do yet in my head, so they'll just have occasional chapters as 'extras'. i luv sym. mwah.


	11. ch11(days days days days)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is what the body horror tag is for
> 
> he's afraid of the stick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh darn i interlaced the plot in the porn. what a disjointed mess. there's no skipping anything now, if you've gotten this far, i believe in you. i believe you can get through this with me.

                Restless nights were not uncommon to the old soldier. You don’t live this long and see this many fights to receive restful shut-eye every night, or even the majority of your nights. Hell, Jack’s sure that everyone else on base falls prey to the same problems. Tonight, it starts with a feeling of being watched; Jack dreams about being on the run again, from his past few years- sweats a river in his sleep, shakes when he sees a building crumpling around him. Back when he /could/ see it. Something scratches the back of his neck with dull claws to rise him gently, comforting. Awoken from deep in his cycle, his body continues to tremor when his eyes flick open to the black of the room- he feels it, something, the scratching, straddled above him. Something real, and not a manifestation of his trauma.

                It sucks the warm from the room like dry ice- and in a similar fashion, wisps fogs from his ends. Given the day before, there should be /no reason/ his ghost should be up and around, let alone straddling him and petting him so. “ … Reyes?”, Morrison breaks the silence, shifting to move from his side to his back to face the man, but is interrupted when the dream interloper leans down to his captive below. To his extreme surprise, Jack feels a jagged row of teeth pressing into his cheek instead of a familiar mask or even partial lips; above him, it rumbles a deep low note in its chest he’d tag more for a crocodile then any human man he knew.. Heart still jumping in his chest from the dreams- he wonders if he is still in fact, sleeping, but above him the creature speaks, hissing in a multitoned warble, “ Jaaaaaaaack.”

                It sounds like Reaper, mostly. Other then, it sounds like it’s coming from three places at once.

                                                                ----

                When they land, they require Reinhardt to come and haul the ghost’s corpse away. Reaper won’t sit still long enough anywhere to roll him away on a cart or a wheelchair, he’s constantly gargling and breaking off into corners- completely deaf, blind, and unreasonable- but he clings to Reinhardt’s arm like a saving grace. The behemoth doesn’t mind the strange tingle the ‘blood’ of him leaves on the skin, and Hanzo assures him, from experience, it only lasts about an hour or so, and doesn’t /seem/ to have any lasting effect. Angela is extremely troubled that Reaper hasn’t /stopped/ ‘bleeding’ yet, but has absolutely no idea what to do for him.

                “You go settle our new Vishkar friend, Dr. Ziegler, and I’ll deal with Reyes.” Jack gestures her off back towards her infirmary- he has Reaper back in his room, and he’s crawled under a bed and violently vocalizing at any who dare enter his space.

                “She is already set up and fine, Lucio is keeping her company- honestly, Jack. If he’s injured, there’s probably something I can figure out to do. I can always try the Caduceus staff…? Would it not be worth trying? His wounds are showing no signs of repairing on their own.”

                “I’m thinking we just need to give it more time, but…” She’s right. It really doesn’t hurt to try. Probably.

                As expected, Reaper postures, grumbles, wafts up a storm when the door opens and streaks light into the darkness of his prison. Unattended, he’s knocked every shelf, computer, nearly the bed over on its side, and Angela sighs at the mess. She was still using some of those… Jack sticks right by the door, blocking it off despite closing it behind him, and Mercy approaches- she’s fully decked herself in her old armour, and the wings glow faintly behind. They both expect a fight, simply because he’s the kind of man to cause problems, but the level of fight they receive is disconcerting at best.

                 Reaper doesn’t seem any more unappreciative of their company than when it was just Reinhardt and Jack, so the doctor is hoping it means that he doesn’t hate her any more then he hates anyone else. That, or he just doesn’t see them enough to recognize between. It is unfortunately the latter.

                When the staff alights and locks to its target, the wraith pauses for a solid second, before /screeching/ in discomfort. The man behind grabs her sharply to stop, but she pushes him back, away, barks at him in Swiss to let her god damned work… Continues, /chases/ the ghost about while he struggles to remove himself from her glow. Jack /has/ to keep himself at the door now instead; out of memory, Reaper books for it, but is greeted with a boot to the face. Also, those who had been lingering outside in curiosity may attempt to give them assistance that, apparently, the doctor did not want or need.

                The scuffle doesn’t last as long as it feels like it does, and it ends with Mercy floating precariously up in a corner, heels barely balanced on a lip in the wall, and Jack with his arm around the ghost’s neck, forcing him down and prone. Reaper, stuck beneath him, rumbles and whines, wheezes uncomfortably, but is visibly exhausted to run further. Her insistence is unquestioned now- Jack hadn’t seen it when she had first started, but feels it now; the hole in Reaper’s chest was seaming itself, slowly but surely. Neither of them have any idea why he’s /terrified/ of the staff, but he’s now wasted a terrible amount of energy fighting them through it. When she’s satisfied with how far she gets, pushing his limits in the fact they would /not/ try this a second time, she clicks her weapon off, and the ghost instantly relaxes into the floor. Jack lets him fall, softly, and can’t help but notice the tiny words he makes into the floor- Angela, however, is distracted by the fact that his head was doing no repairing whatsoever. Only his chest wound reacted to her staff.

 _“-Shit-“_ She leans down, gently resting a hand on his head again, pulling the frayed material of the hood. He flinches for a moment, but rests back up into her palm, oddly enough. “Maybe it has something to do with the collar.”

                “Athena says he asked her not to turn it off after he was shot.”

                “He might have an ulterior motive…” She bites her lip, trying to figure his desires not to be helped. That’s a bit of a dark thought, but would explain the reaction to being healed.

                Jack shuts her down immediately, rising and shaking his head, his hand, aggressively dismissive. “Not a chance, not after we’ve gotten this far. Besides, we know the collar isn’t working the best it could, but it’s what we have. The way he runs from us now, maybe he thought he would run where we would have trouble catching him.” A much nicer idea, and Angela lets him have it.

                “Winston says he has been making good progress on his next design with Mei’s help. Shouldn’t be long now. Hopefully Gabriel stays a bit longer for us.” They can only shrug to that.

                Outside the room they are, in fact, greeted with a worried audience. Fareeha and Reinhardt are on Angela immediately, she took a few good hits, but has had much worse before. The larger man breaks off a moment to see if Jack needed settling also, but the man turns him down, Jack becomes distracted by something else. From a bit further off, he hears Mccree with Hanzo and Genji- the two siblings seem to be /attempting/ to settle the cowboy- but when Jack makes for an approach, he’s blocked by the elder Shimada before he can make any headway towards whatsoever. He and the shorter man have a nice ‘staring’ contest before he hears Jesse swear and turn off in the other direction, flicking off all three of them. Genji tries to catch him off before he goes, but with a rough push, Mccree is having none of it.

                “Is there something I’m doing wrong I can even fix..?”

                Hanzo doesn’t have an answer for him, and honestly, neither does Genji, but the younger brother speaks anyways. “He isn’t even mad with you? Or he is, but. I’m afraid I am a bit out of the loop myself on the matter. On a completely unrelated matter… Have you read your messages yet?”

                “.. No.. I heard a few come in when we were still on the carrier but I didn’t check them. I was a bit, ha,  ‘occupied’, sorry.”

                “That is fair, Reyes’ injury was fairly extreme. We all heard the scuffle, also.”

                “Baby didn’t want to take his medicine, is all.”

                “How very much like him, yes?”

                “A little worse than usual, but I’m sure I’ll get an explanation one day.” But, the cyborg had mentioned something. He /could/ complain about Gabriel all day, but... “The news, Genji, you could just tell me instead of making me go get my visor to read.”

                The cyborg shrugs heavy in his shoulders, looking back his brother, who is /no help whatsoever/. Stone faced. Maybe he’s still thinking about Mccree. “Winston went to obtain my master, Zenyatta, and his… ffffriend.”

“Oh? Giving him some space to get used to the base alone?” He vaguely remembering hearing about Winston’s side mission in his memory. Master? He’s sure there’s something in that wording he isn’t getting.

“They are both in a far hanger, his friend doesn’t.. Isn’t good in… public?”

“Bein’ super vague here, Genji. It’s another omnic, right? Is he just big, or something?”

“.. Yes? He is big.” He nods, hands on his hips, still desperately trying to think of how to explain.

“Didn’t Reinhardt come with Winston to retrieve them? Are they bigger than Reinhardt?”

                “Not so much ‘bigger’, but from what I hear, it did make our large friend… deeply uncomfortable.” Reinhardt is still nearby, and Genji glances over at him, but he’s busy with Angela. “But alas, he did let my master’s friend come home with them, in the good graces of his behavior.”

                “..Then I guess we don’t have a problem. I’ve got no reason not to trust Reinhardt’s judgement.” Yet.

                “I hope, once you see him, you will still have this opinion.”

                “I’m making some guesses here, that he’s somehow an old combat model, as farfetched as that sounds to me. Didn’t think those guys came with single consciousness’, but then again, back during the Omnic crisis, we didn’t think any omnic was capable of singular intelligence.” The old commander shrugs, musing the various omnic grades he knew that might fit inside a building. “I live to be surprised.”

                “That was… exactly the kind of response I was hoping to hear. I did have some time to greet my Master and his friend for a while, when I was asked to come and help with Mccree instead.” The cyborg sighs. Helping with Mccree hadn’t turned out so well. “Our new friend is a bit downtrodden in having to be here, instead of outside, but it..”

                Jack’s eyebrows furrow in thought, nodding to himself, “It’s probably a really unsafe world out there for something like that... Which is why your friend, Zenyatta, wanted us to take him so much? Well, maybe tomorrow after a good nap, I’ll go down to the far hangar myself and see.”

                “I’m sure he would appreciate it.”

                “I’d like to see Zenyatta too.” They stand there in silent thought for a good couple moments. It startles Genji when the other man when snaps his fingers and points at him, “It’s a Bastion unit.”

                Still startled, he shrugs his shoulders high, laughs, “How do you even make a guess like that?”

                “’Bastion unit’ is /still/ a pretty broad guess, there were many Bastions commissioned. Do you know the number on his side?”

                “I…uh…” He stops, clicking a finger against his mouth plate in thought.

                Hanzo peaks into the conversation for just a moment, “ E-54.”

                “.. Yeah that’s a pretty big sucker, but not the biggest. Hell, where the… fuck did you find a functioning E-54. I was really certain they’d all got hunted down and taken apart for scrap. They had a weak interface, very susceptible to GOD AI’s.” It’s a pang of worry to have something so software weak in their midst, now.

                “His previous caretaker was worried of this as well, but says they had him checked over- he is an oddity in this fact. Either through random process or human upgrade, he was unsusceptible to any acts of hijacking they attempted. It is very much likely why he has a personality or conscious at all.”

                “I’d like to see the notes on that, and I’m /really/ hoping Winston questioned that.” Old habits. He immediately postures like a good Commander.

                “He did, he did! He knew about the problem some Bastion unit’s had, he took down /all/ their notes on him, you could easily ask Winston for them and look it over yourself.. Honestly though, just consider going down and seeing him. He will win your heart over. He is very personable.”

                Jack’s eyebrows raise, contesting his theory, but smiles. “I’ll take your word for it. Tomorrow. It’s gotta be late now,” he rubs some tension from his face, mumbling,” or I’m going to pretend it is, I think we all need a good lay down.”

                The cyborg nods, turns to his brother, heads them back to probably go hunt down their irritable cowboy. Jack heads to his own room, weary; he showers in silence and falls into bed a wet, naked mess. He’s far too drained to notice when the door shifts open- or when Athena tries to click on his comm to warn him. In his injured state, the AI really did not want to reprimand the ghost if she did not absolutely need too, so she waits and watches like a hawk for his demeanor. To her good will, Reaper seems to settle down beside the bed on the floor, curled up with his head on the side, and stares at the unconscious other. Unfortunately, she has no way to know his /physical/ state of health. He’s up and walking. That’s good, isn’t it?

                                                ----

                That, that is absolutely the most disconcerting thing he’s had to hear in a very long while. In possibly, ever. Three, he narrows it down, it comes out in three places, all Reaper’s voice, but multiplied, and warbled. And teeth- teeth on his skin, they drag down, nip gently at the flesh of Jack’s jaw. Jack repeats, “Reyes…?”

                “Yes…no… maybe? Probably.”

                “Who, then.”

                “Rrrrrreaper.” He’s gargling his words, but starts speaking only once at him, with the mouth Jack can feel on his throat.

                “Up so soon? You should go back to sleep.” He keeps it casual out of habit. Knowing full well how Reaper preyed on ‘fear’, giving the wraith what he wanted was out of the question. Besides, Jack had kept his cool for worse situations than this.

                “Can’t sleep.”

                “Why?”

                “Nightmares.”

                “Hah, aren’t /you/ supposed to be the nightmare-“

                “No, your nightmares, Jack.” The ghost leans down again, pressing gently on Jacks’ cheek. He makes a guess it’s trying to be an affectionate kiss, but he has no lips. The barest pricks of his teeth press into skin, rubbing against stubble as he thinks to being nuzzled.

                “Reaper, I have /lots/ of nightmares, you don’t have to worry about it.”

                “I hear you, feel it though, I can’t ignore it.” From his grumbling and nonsensical confusion just hours earlier to, to /this/, albeit very wave-y sounding English, isn’t terribly comforting at all. Again, Jack moves to roll onto his back, and this time, ‘Reaper’, lets him, lets him squeeze his arms out from being straddled, and in the blind of dark and his impaired eyes, he feels out the ghost’s chest. Sure enough, it’s repaired, as it was becoming when Mercy had left him- it’s all jacket again. When he migrates up, it’s warm-ish in his ribs right above his heart, but the temperature drops off sharply from there. He reaches his face, and at the point of his collar still tight on his neck, the flesh dips into near freezing. On another note, his fingers /sink/ into it, like pressing into wet clay; as he feels further, he tries to be feather light in response to the porousness of it. A ‘mouth’. No lips, all teeth. Two eye ’holes’. He feels one blink when he brushes over it. The other just seems to be a soft indent of flesh, no eyeball. As he travels, as suspected, there’s another mouth, on the left side where he remembers the entry shot of the sniper bullet before, it’s probably getting in the way of making an eye there. Knowing now where the third probably hides, he travels a hand to the back, and sure enough, the large gaping exit bites at him much as the entry did. Beneath his flat palming, at random, he feels eyes open in the wake of his prodding. No mask, all ‘head’. His hood is pushed back behind, but its still there. It has no tears where the bullet left.

                “That is the worst attempt at making a face I have ever seen in my life, and I have watched Omnics create themselves from the beginning. How can you make a face this bad?”

                “I’ve never had to. Before, from scratch, with so little to work with.”

                “You can see my face right now, can’t you.” Jack gestures to his own face for a moment, squinting his eyes at the creature above him. “This is what you’re supposed to make.”

                “Well, Jack, then maybe I just don’t want too.” The ghost presses past his still held up hands, sinking in close to Jack’s face; he bites his nose, gently, before a tongue slinks out and licks where he had ‘kissed’ earlier. “You wouldn’t like me if stayed unpretty?”

                This… thing, ‘Reaper’, is acting quite a bit unlike his friend. “I didn’t say that. I’m just trying to give you some pointers… Reaper, throw me a bone here.”

                “Yes, Jack?” He truly seems to enjoy saying his name out loud, like a mantra. Maybe a personal reminder.

                “Are you Reyes.. at all?”

                “I am.. all Reyes..?” He tilts his head over, clacking his teeth in confusion. That didn’t really answer… the question…

                “Let me rephrase. Would Gabriel be upset with how you’re acting?”

                “He sees. /I/ see, you, and this feels fine.” The ghost rests down on him now, curls arms up on his chest like a cat. Awkwardly slinking a thigh between his legs, minding his package around the pleather, but purposefully rubs against it. Tapping a clawed hand on his bare chest, “You /can/ tell me to leave, however. I would hold no grudge.”

                “I ain’t ready to chase you off quite yet. Maybe you can give me some answers from a different perspective. Even though you seem to like being vague.” That is, if this isn’t just Gabriel masterfully trolling him. This doesn’t… feel, like the way he might tease. He’s starting to think he might be talking to a pure Talon manifestation instead of something muddied between his conditioning and Gabriel’s resurgent autonomy.

                “True enough. Maybe, I can offer you a trade, instead, for the words you want, vague or not.” Jack’s vision is readjusting to the darkness now- he can spot, hazily, the dots of red that break up the darkness. They shift in the black, and he guesses when one blinks, another replaces it. Extremely incorrect face building procedure.

                “I can play that game. Reaper, that’s what you want me to call you?”

                “I am.. /built/ as ‘Reaper’, yes. But I am Reyes.”

                “Alright. Built, who built you?”

                “Who, all of me? History, pacts, and then, recently, ‘science’.” He hisses the word, ‘science’.

                “How long have you known yourself?”

                “Since Gabriel.”

                “So… before Talon?”

                “Much, much before Talon.”, the creature chuckles. That is extremely surprising to hear. There was no level of suspecting that, as he knew him in their /very/ long history together, that Gabriel would be hiding something of this level. Maybe, it is a weird mental manifestation from his suspected torture in Talon. He might /think/ himself a separate entity from Gabriel’s conscious that had been there forever, but it doesn’t mean it’s true. His hands are still by Reaper’s face, and he slips them above again, cupping under the vague semblance of a jaw.

                “What am I trading all this information for?”

                “I thought you would never question me, just simply accept as you have been often doing... You made me waste near all I obtained when hunting, as you chased. He does not like the stick.”

                “Hah, what, are you saying he didn’t waste all his energy when he got himself /shot/?”

                “That, too.. But he feared, and fear is much more wasteful. Not like you.”

                “Not like me?”

                “Not like what you gave.” He rubs his face on Jack’s chest, breathing into his skin. The cold of it saps any excess he was producing from his sweats earlier, and an uncomfortable chill is settling into his bones.

                “…Ah, I got you figured. Sit up, offa me.” He presses up against the ghost’s chest, upending him to the side of the bed and crowded against the wall. “Serves me right for lettin’ Mercy try to help you.”

                “No, no, she did help, I do not begrudge that. However, the stick, in history, was used for suffering.”

                “..Her staff only heals people, I don’t know when there was a time where it was ever used to hit someone..?”

                “Not hit, but heal, more than any other. Heal from /dead/. Very uncomfortable.” ‘Reaper’ is lounging now, like a housecat, at the side of his bed. Long and outstretched, way over to give Jack room to maneuver.

                “…. Alright, I’ll take that for now.” He doesn’t… remember, Mercy, coming back to help himself or Reyes back in the Swiss explosion. Maybe there was something she wasn’t telling him. Instead of dwelling on it, he thinks to distract; he shifts off the bed for a moment and kneels at the side of it, tugging ‘Reaper’s arm until the ghost shifts lying flat on his back on the bed. “You got a preference?”

                “My preference is your preference.”

                “I was thinking about doing this before, but it seems a shame to waste it when not all of you can feel it.”

                “Gabriel feel this? We see you, before us. He is just tired. He loves you so.” Reaper watches as his statement sinks in over time. Jack’s face contorts, slowly, from confusion, nose wrinkling in distaste to the gross over-sentiment. It fades to pain, sadness, heartache. Despite being mocked for his poor facial construction earlier, he’s can see plainly what Jack gives him in silence. Reaper doesn’t know what he means by an emotional response like that. He hadn’t had a desire to crush his heart with something so offhand to say. Weakly, he mumbles, “You would imply I lie?”

                “No, no I didn’t mean.. I didn’t mean it like that. He just doesn’t remember anything, does he?”

                “I do not think I remember what you want me too either. What you told us to think about before hunting.”

                Jack had almost forgot he’d even mentioned something. While they still converse, he shifts himself back onto the bed, behind ‘Reaper’s ass, and places his thighs beneath the ghost’s. “I’m still not going to just tell you. I’m hoping one day, we’ll have a way to get your memory sorted.”

                “And if you /don’t/? Will you one day tell us all?”

                “Yes, Reaper. Reyes…. Gabriel. If Winston comes out and says it’s hopeless, we will sit down, and we will talk about everything.”

                In his youth, he might question the situation and the conversation with embarrassment, but he’s beyond that point where bedroom things must be smitten with bedroom talk. Instead, he hauls ‘Reaper’s heavy ass boots over his shoulder, pressing the man’s thighs together. Honestly, if the estranged consciousness before him wasn’t lying, and it’d been with Reyes forever, then it isn’t as if he’s about to fuck a stranger. He is, however, about to fuck a man who had no common sense about building faces. One might say blindness is coming with its advantages- but secretly, he wishes he could see clearly the way it shifts. Just from a standpoint of ‘ha yeah, I’m really doing this’.  

                “Oh, a man of desires, always.” ‘Reaper’ teases, of course, lifts his ass up a bit in the air, wiggling his butt into the other man’s lap. Mind the jacket flap, he reaches down himself to shove the offending material under him and away. Reaper felt it before, when he stuffed his thigh between Jack’s legs, and as he vaguely remembers; Jack stiffens at the drop of a hat. He eases his legs apart for a moment to slip that erection between two tightly wrapped thighs. In the very least, ‘Reaper’ thinks, that the material is close enough to the skin that he easily feels him nestled amid the flesh there- and that it might be the best thing to being penetrated they’ll have for a long while. With that knowledge, he can pretend well enough it /is/ him being used properly.

                “Hey, you begged for it, I’m just being a man of my word.”

                “Oh, are you becoming used to being a man of your word, now?” Jack slips a hand over the offending mouth, but the other two laugh, roughly.

                “Now, /I/ thought you didn’t remember back when I was a ‘liar’.” Though they’re still conversing, he starts a slow, dragging pace between the material. Without any sort of lubrication, it’s dry pressure, but he’s relishing in the passive start.

                “Maybe we just remember some emotions. Maybe your faults were pounded into us.”

                “But none of the faults I would’ve thought. I guess it makes sense. It’s things Talon knew about me, and not things /you/ knew. Good to know you didn’t drop all my dirty secrets.”

                “That does make sense, and I would never think to do that. Though, I suppose thinking to do something hasn’t stopped me before from doing it.” Reaper is physically unaroused to the way Jack uses him, but visibly and emotionally interested in the way the tip pushes out from between the blackness of his clothing prison. The way the clinging of the fabric forces back his foreskin to the edge- the way pre very slowly slicks the area at end. Not nearly enough in good time to make it like a real fuck. ‘Reaper’ /could/ give some assistance, but despite his ability to keep up the conversation, Jack’s face is already wearing with lines of stress. He’s enough thoroughly enjoying himself without help. “Is it as you suspected it, Jack? Did you blame Talon for all?” In humour, the ghost advocates Jack to continue talking despite being occupied.

                “..Not for all of it. You’re giving me good fuel for my hatred later, though.” He feels ‘Reaper’s thighs pull down and away from him, encouraging the man to lean all the way over on his weight. He stops thrusting for the duration of the movement, nearly folding the man below in half- but when ‘Reaper’ stops, they’re quite face to face. He expects it before it comes, but it doesn’t mean he’s amused by the tongue that licks wet up his nose. Hands moving from propping himself up on the ghost’s squeezed together thighs; he spreads them instead for a moment to press palms into either side of the pillow- to either side of ‘Reaper’s head. The ghost purrs a noise of confusion when Jack stops gently fucking him, maybe thinking him annoyed with the lick- but instead, the man presses their faces together, lips to unfortunate teeth. The ghost takes it as an invite to lick him further, slowly spreading his jaw beneath the kiss.

                Jack would be delighted to know the ghost was taking no part in knowing how a tongue was supposed to work, either, and pressing past his lips he’s greeted with a taste of salt and iron. It’s disgusting, but he lets it happen, opens his own mouth as one might do when you kiss someone. It’s hard to swap spit with him when he seems so occupied by jamming the offending organ deep inside his mouth, nearly gagging; he has no room to fight back with, but eventually Reaper recedes, allows his lover to lick around his sharp teeth. Reaper probably has no recollection of this, but Jack remembers a time when Gabriel chastised him for being insatiable, but too vanilla. How the turn tables, Gabriel. In the future, he’ll give him a thought to rough fucking a monster and letting him choke on the corrosive spit. A hand settles around Reaper’s throat, pushing him into the bed when Jack rises away from him. “You taste like eating a handful of pennies.”

                “Worse than blood?”

                “I don’t know if ‘worse’ is a word I would use, but, on par, at least.” Unintentionally, he’s drooling now. It’s the way the nanites make his mouth feel fuzzy in the wake of their intrusion. He remembers it from before, but he hadn’t gotten it so heavily in his mouth, last time. He lifts a hand to wipe the remaining Reaper brand saliva from his mouth, slicking down between his clothed thighs. Lubricant. It was good enough last time- it’s so oddly vicious. Maybe a bit too thick if one day, in hope, he can free Reyes from this garbage suit. When he presses his legs together again and rams his dick through, it slips easily enough, and, maybe falsely, feels warm. It’s a very convincing fake now, between this thighs. Reaper is still folded in over himself, calves thrown back over Jack’s shoulder held high again.

                Now within reach, the ghost can wrap his arms around Jack’s back, sinking claws unapologetically into his flesh. “And yet you continue. I remember it, you, becoming being a glutton for punishment.” He barely seems to notice the wounds being created or the words spoken; the conversation dies when, now slicked, the squeeze between his thighs is a bit too enrapturing. Perhaps it’s a bit of the pain slicing through the skin that excites Jack further, or what he’d mentioned himself earlier. The hatred fueling it. He doesn’t hate Reaper, Gabriel, no. But having since had the conversation about what took place to break his old lover so. He won’t lie. He’s mad now, suspecting it before, but now hearing it from the beast itself. Perfect timing to rough fuck out his frustrations- he was sure, even if this was the personality of Reyes’ he was more familiar with, that the man would have it no other way but rough.

                He’s sure ‘Reaper’ had no use for lungs, but Jack hears him wheezing, whining beneath him, laughing when the old soldier stutters in his rapid movement. The ghost moans quietly, in imitation, Jack guesses, but it’s good enough for him. It settles his core to finishing with numb legs, bucking hard a last few times before releasing himself all over ‘Reaper’s crotch and midsection- when he pulls back it drools down between the ghost’s crotch and between his ass. “This is dry clean only, you know.”, he teases, Jack barely catches it; he takes a few long moments of self-collecting before he can laugh, and punch him playfully in the side. Out of instinct, and a lack of strength, he leans forward onto comfortable thighs- but they spread against him, he slaps forwards into Reaper’s clawed palms instead. Before he can even respond or think, the ghost has him wrangled with all limbs, and in a solid single motion, flips the position. They’re compressed to the wall again- and Reaper is overtop, looming, /again/. Jack’s about to question it, but thinks better, and remembers why this all came to happen in the first place. It wasn’t just for him to get a shot off.

                Unlike before, however, the man above him seems far more calculating. With a confused noise, Jack feels the other man lower his face down to his chest, and he expects the nauseating pull, but instead receives a /real/ bite. Overstimulated from before, he almost doesn’t mind, it’s not an eviscerating wound, or even that much of a bleed, but the way he’s acting is very disconcerting. He might even, in passing in the future, say it was ‘frightening’. The offending mouth travels from its nip along his ribs to his neck, where he deigns to tongue the flesh there for a moment as well, before nipping again. Jack presses up hands to Reaper’s sides, very much overstimulated now; Jack whines beneath the creature’s jaw, but he is indifferent to the wordless begging for freedom from stimulation. Covered in the nanite saliva, Jack’s having trouble telling now exactly how hard or how many bites he receives. His apprehension apparently slips where Reaper wants it, however, and the ghost recedes for his prize. Jack feels his arms gripped at the wrist, and pushed down to either side of his hips- he’s sure that they’re there, feels the claws. However, he startles to feel a second set of cold palms pressing into his chest. Gripped about his wrists, and growing tired from the earlier excess and /something else/, he has no room to try and upend the wraith, now /extremely/ disconcerted. Ghosted palm still on his chest, he feels them press the air from his lungs, and in a flashing moment, feels them invasively sink in his chest.

                Nothing can tell him how long he sleeps afterwards. No clock to read- and when his eyes flick open, he’s lying on his front, near the edge of the bed with his arm hanging off. Jack feels, at first, infinitely dizzy, but he’s wrapped delicately in his blanket. His shoulder and neck burn.

                “…Too hard, I apologize.” Behind him, still on the bed but crowded off, ‘Reaper’ still lays in wait. He does sound apprehensive.

                Jack heaves himself onto his elbows, but can’t get much further- his head wobbles in its place when he gazes to the side despite the blindness. “Well as long and I ain’t dying I won’t complain. You get good enough to keep yourself going?”

                “Much enough, yes. I’m afraid though, that something has gone wrong. With my mood.” Like he had on Angela before, it seems going a bit overboard was what was coming naturally. However, he hadn’t completely trashed her like Jack felt trashed in this moment.

                “Gone wrong like I need to leave?” The answer is already obvious to him. The wraith stutters a hand over to the prone man’s back, and claws scrape there, overtop of blanket. It’s akin, Jack thinks, to a cat pawing over a toy. A dead mouse.

                “I want… to kill you…?” He hisses, like he’s being spoken through by someone else.

                “Yeah yeah, I get it.” He rolls over to the side, pressing a hand against the offending face, and ungracefully falls off the bed with a fleshy thunk. Reaper becomes uninterested in letting him take his time, however, and with noises he’d heard days earlier, Jack shuffles into pants before making his ass off towards the door. Before he reaches it- he hears the wraith bark and move to leap forwards- but he stops, pained, /whines/, and falls pathetically to the ground. Collar, that’s right. No big deal. Maybe this is what Reaper was talking about before when he told Athena to keep the damn thing on.

                Athena is, of course, on top of it- Jack’s door is, thankfully enough, one of the ones that has a hard lock on it; or he would think to be spending a horrible few hours baiting Reaper into a room that did. Instead, he’s treated with the walk of shame in his sweatpants to the nearest person who would let him crash there for the rest of the short night. The medbay is the most open option. However, he’s feels quite… emotionally, compromised now. It’s a work of miracles that he doesn’t /think/ that he meets anyone on his journey to Reinhardt- but with the lights down low for ‘night mode’, it’s so hard to tell. For a moment, maybe, there’s a noise of movement, but there’s no footsteps, and was never any footsteps. Unless someone is getting their ass up to some floating. How unlikely would that be?

                Thought groggy, the giant German has no problems letting Jack accost him in the night. They spend it with him laying curled across his front, quietly musing about the day. Reinhardt has something he wants to talk to him about, and Jack is worried the most about what will come of Reyes- but they’re both too tired. Reinhardt doesn’t even question the scrawling marks of blood he retained from his misadventure. It will come to them in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ow-* 
> 
> through and through, i will always be a smut artist. i can't help it. all i want to write is dick. everyone else is like 'my muse is trauma and emotions' but i just use my emotions to prop up hot dicking and eating a mans fingers. i would have it no other way.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wMCRE5SnyJo


	12. ch12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (redacted)'S FUCKIN' PISSED  
> -insert kirby reaction image-

It’s not a good start to Reinhardt’s morning when, while attempting to wake his bedmate, the other man refuses to be roused. He leaves Jack the most excess minutes he has, gone for a shower and returning; and sure, Jack is leaned up in bed now, but his eyes are shut and his chin is in his palms. Tiny snoring. Sleeping sitting up. When Reinhardt turns the light on, he can see more to the extent of his damages- bitten several times right across the collar bone, and one lingering near the base of his ribs. Jack hisses when a hand wraps around his wrist and removes his chin perch from him, but lets it be done, leaning over to let the other man inspect him. The most concerning were honestly the dark, yellowing bruises on his chest, awfully hand shaped. How could that have even happened. “Tsk tsk. I should’ve sent you to Dr. Zeigler last night.”

“What would she do. She’ll probably just yell at me for letting it happen.”

“Mn, I can’t say I wouldn’t agree with her.” Reinhardt is mostly joking, and tones it that way- but Jack grumbles in response, legitimately annoyed. “Did you not sleep well?”

“I slept well enough.” Still sassy. He returns the stolen arm and hand; Jack takes the moment to crack his neck idly. He seems completely unimpeded by the wounds, not letting them get in the way of his stretching.

“You know, I’m going to make you go to the doctor anyways.”

“Didn’t you have something you wanted to talk to me about?”

Reinhardt rolls his eyes at attempted diversion. “The thing I wanted to speak of isn’t going anywhere, so.”

“I know about the Bastion in the basement. I’m confused as to why you let it in.”

“Do you question my decision?” Fine, you can have your distraction for a moment. But we will be heading out, Jack. Reinhardt grabs him up by the arm again and hefts him up so he’s standing, shoving pants in his hands.

With a grunt, he lifts and stands, wobbling, pressing a hand out to stabilize himself on Reinhardt’s chest while he shuffles back into his sweats. “I haven’t met it yet, so I couldn’t tell you. Y’think once we get face to face I might get more leery?”

“Well… You can’t see, so that might help. He doesn’t make a much noise like the Bastions we had known.”

“Oh, so my blind-ness is finally coming in handy.” He’s trying to joke, but so far, Jack still sounds irritated about everything occurring around him. Being a man of good demeanor, Reinhardt doesn’t take any of the distaste to heart. Jack had a rough, stupid night. A rough, stupid couple of days, honestly. He really isn’t making it better by forcing him to see Angela.

To add more insult to his injury, Reinhardt has no clothes that Jack can fit into, so he’s forced to walk the walk of shame a second time in his same sweat pants. There’s even more luck in being blind- he has nothing left over to be embarrassed about his looks- cold and annoyed, he steals Reinhardt’s blanket and drapes it over his head while they walk. “No one is usually up this early anyways.”

“Last night I swear someone was. I didn’t see them, because.. Yeah- and I didn’t hear footsteps, but I just sort of. Felt watched.”

“.. Oh! Maybe you had run into one of the omnics we brought home.”

“.. One of the omnics? I’m going to make an assumption and say ‘not the Bastion’, but I still don’t know how either could’ve walked past me and not have me hear it.”

The larger man rumbles a laugh, “He floats. But he walks most of the time?”

“Oh, so he was just sneaking around for fun then...- the hell do you mean he floats…?” He mumbles that last part, not expecting an answer.

“We only had a conversation long enough for the plane ride-“

“That was what, 6 hours?”

“Yes, but. He claims to be attracted to, ah, how did he put it... Discord? Maybe he sensed your distress.”

Reinhardt blinks and leans down to peer at Jack’s face from beyond his blanket cover when he doesn’t respond. “… Do you remember when we didn’t think they even… thought?”

“I do.”

“And it’s far gone enough now this one says he can just feel things from a distance like that. It’s a god damned wonder.”

“It’s that thought to why when asked for my opinion, I was swayed. Also, the Bastion did something very.. particular, to win my heart.”

“You’re just going to keep it vague like that?”

“I’m hoping, once we get you stitched up, and we will go down to see him ourselves, and he will do the same thing to you! And I want it to be a surprise.”

\---

Angela is working when they arrive. Jack would be surprised, but then he remembers that they were harbouring that injured Vishkar technician still- they waste enough time getting there that she’s just finishing up changing bandages. She looks startled to be visited by the two of them so early, then confusion, because Jack is wrapped up like a teenage girl- and then he drops it off his shoulders; she leans all the way back, /groaning/. “Athena had informed me that Reaper was under house arrest again, but not to the /why/.”

There’s a moment of sheepish silence before Jack turns on heel towards the door- but there’s a giant man arm in his way; Reinhardt shakes his head, realigns him front ways and shoves him off in the direction of the doctor. “I don’t even really need this. I can shrug this off on my own.”

Angela scoots a curtain back over her other patient’s ‘room’, Satya’s looking quite sleepy and unwilling to be a part of this conversation, and taps heels over to the bothered old man. “The security is in not /needing/ to shrug it off on your own. Do you want to risk infection?” Reinhardt steals the security blanket for the last upheaval of his freedom, and Angela just tsks away at the wounds. “How strange.”

“What..?”

She taps a finger on her hip while she looks him over, sticking out her tongue for a moment. “He usually oozes something that heals wounds, but in doesn’t seem to be working like it usually does.”

“It’s probably why his head didn’t come back last night either. Something about the bullet Widowmaker used messed up his repair factor.” His head shakes at the thought, disassociating from the doctor pulling at the wounds. “Damn, I’d meant to pin down Hanzo for a conversation.”

Angela means to ask Jack what he means by ‘no head back last night’ when it was obvious Reaper had enough head to bite him, but passes over it for the time being. “Mn? He isn’t hard to find, he comes when called. Should I ask him to meet us here?”

“No, I’ll go find him later. I’d like to get him away from Mccree if I’m talkin’ about Reyes.”

With gentle coercion, and with Reinhardt walling down the door to his escape, Angela sits Jack down on a bed and actually starts treating him. “You think? Do you see the same fight I do on the horizon?”

“If I’m trying to pretend that I was ever good at seeing internal conflict, yes.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but he says it downtrodden, like he really means and takes his old failures to heart.

Angela’s eyebrow knit, not looking up at him from her work, “You did what you could.”

“Don’t blame me for not feeling that sentiment right now, not after last night.”

“Would you like to share what happened last night? Other than the obvious.”

“Not really.”

“How did he bruise your chest like this…”

“Like what?” In confusion, he leans up and presses against the meat of his pecs. Sure enough, under pressure, it’s a wee bit tender. He forgets for a moment, and then /remembers/, Angela can see it in his posture, when his head sinks between his shoulders and he groans, whines. “You don’t want to know.”

“What? Because it was gross or because it was medically unsound?”

“Both.”

“You’re awful.”

“He didn’t ask before he did it.”

“Does he usually ask?”

Jack gives her a disgruntled huff at the insinuation. “He actually asks a lot. Last night was very different and… weird.”

“Regretful?”

“I don’t want to say that.”

“You seem to be implying it.”

“You remember how, when he bit you, you felt relieved afterward?”

“Yes? You don’t seem to be having the same experience.”

“That’s why I’m hesitating.” He’s barely mumbling under his breath now, Reinhardt can hardly hear, and slips a bit closer to keep catching the conversation. “Instead all I can think about is the failure and the… rage, about everything I’d ever done for him.”

It’s a bit strange to have him so plainly leave his heart on his sleeve for her, but she’d never resent him for it. “Do you think he did that on purpose? Out of spite?” She pauses and looks up to his eyes for a moment, but unseeing, they flick around in the dark.

Nervous, he chuckles quietly to break the tension, “He did keep saying he would be spiteful. Hateful. Feeling awfully foolish now.”

It grows silent at that point, her not knowing what else to tell him to lighten his mood, and suspecting very much that under the duress Reaper caused him last night, that his mood would be unliftable. When she’s done picking at and cleaning the bites, she leaves him with a biotic beacon- with his healing factor, it would be a waste of stitches. “In my medical opinion, I think you should go back to Reinhardt’s room and waste away today sleeping.”

“I can try, but I don’t know if you’ve ever sat in a dark room alone thinking about the darkest.”

“I have, and I didn’t mean to imply you should sit alone. I’m sure Reinhardt would like to keep you company. I’m more suggesting maybe today to avoid talking to Hanzo about the past days’ events.”

“I’ll…try.”

“I can make him babysit you.” She threatens, jokingly.

“You don’t even need to make me do that, I was thinking I would anyways.”

“Keep your eyes open, then. I can feel the rebellion in me.”

“Well, I am already at a disadvantage then, aren’t I.”

“Still got one eye up on me.”

\--- 

He doesn’t remember where he is. Barely feeling, it’s dark, he’s still blind. It’s a battle of his own will- but when he can stop for a moment in the shadows to focus, focus on directly in front of him, he forces his energy to amass and rebuild him a face, HIS face. A /real/, functioning face, flesh and mask and /rage/. There’s no memory of what he’d apparently produced last night; hell, there’s no memory of last night whatsoever, or even a clear view of the past several days. Reaper remembers the open air, tall buildings. Staring down the barrel of a high-powered rifle- from a distance, but nowhere near far enough. Why was he out there? Who was he with again?... Why did Widowmaker shoot him?

Because you’ve been captured by Overwatch. Right- he was working for /Overwatch/, again, /enslaved/ by them. Serves him right for giving them pity enough to do anything for them, they got him shot. At least this time, he hadn’t been left alone and behind on those foreign streets. Jack dragged him back, he must remember the insult he’d given Reaper in the past to having left him for dead. Jack, Jack, Jack. Wait, wasn’t he here? Was he here with him, to torment him further?

It feels like him in here. Face down on the floor, Reaper pushes up from the concrete, grumbling and nosing around. Smells like him. But he isn’t here. His eyes take seconds to adjust to the dark. Crawling onto the bed, he muses the torn sheet with his clawed hands- he did this. There’s blood on those sheets, too, not his own of course. What had he been up to last night? It’s not enough blood that he’s ‘worried’ Jack might be dead, having killed him in an immemorable stupor. He regrets not remembering wounding him, still. He spots the blood on his claws, rubbing off and dried.

Something still makes him rearrange the bed when he gets bored of fingering the blankets. His brain is slow, and he feels more bisected than usual, for reasons that might be obvious to anyone witnessing his progression back into reality. His forward thoughts are trapped in annoyance, he forgets how long he’s been here (months in Overwatch’s ‘care’), how he’s progressed in being friendly (from Hana’s hard work) in being ‘Reyes’ again. Subconsciously, though, he’s picking up things knocked over, folding discarded clothes into drawers and hampers, and basically cleaning the room of the man he’s outwardly claiming to hate. The tiny inkling in his chest deciding what his body is doing only hopes for the time being no one comes to bother him in his prison long enough for him to sort out whatever mood this was trying to be. He scratches at the collar restlessly- he can feel it more than ever before, like bugs under his skin. It itches right where it lays on his neck- and it’s warm. It’s so very broken, but he still can’t seem to get rid of it- even though he swears it fell off once. When did it fall off? He can’t remember, but he knows it did. Why did he put it back on? Was he fucking stupid?

He’s startled violently from his attempt at memory retrieval when something raps metal on metal against the door. He doesn’t respond, hoping any interloper would take the hint in the silence, but then instead they speak; a southern drawl, deep and tired. “Hey, Jack. Are you there?”

His tiny internal Reyes tries desperately to keep the rage silent and within, but he fails to stop himself from standing to stomp towards the door. “What do you want, whelp?” It seethes from him in unabashed animosity. Reaper barely remembers the younger man.

“Are you fuckin- are you serious?” He can hear Mccree fiddling with the lock- Athena complains against it, but can’t stop it from being unlocked from here. When it shifts open, Reaper takes a step forward to snap at him, him having the audacity to treat him with disrespect, but the cowboy has him by the collar before he can even think about it. “Where is Jack.”

“How do you know he isn’t here.” He sinks claws into the still meat arm restraining him, but Mccree is visually unaffected.

“No way sure as shit he wouldn’t be yellin’ at me by now.” Reaper is surprised to feel the floor beneath him moving away from his feet- the gunslinger is hoisting him up by his collar, strength found within his fury. He pulls them from Jack’s room, and then slams the wraith into the wall to the side, pulling his face in close. His eyes are dark, baggy, tired. With a sniff, the wraith can smell the alcohol on his breath beyond the mask. Reyes knows and is nervous of this look from before, but Reaper doesn’t take it seriously- who could take this /cowboy/ seriously. “What, you still all outta smoke from getting’ your damn head blown off?” Whispering barely under his breath, Reaper can only laugh in response.

“And what’s so fuckin’ funny to you?”

“Are you /kidding/ me, Jesse? Are you kidding yourself? What is with, with all /this/? Who are you posturing for?” He’s legitimately confused. What did he do to this man to make him so irritated with him? Have they even talked since he arrived in Overwatch’s care? They had that fight once. Twice? One physical, one verbal.

“Awh, darlin’, you remember my name? Colour me fuckin’ surprised.”

“How could I forget such a beautiful little failure such as yourself?”

“You never fuckin’ thought that.” Every time Reaper says something that is deigned to be ‘wrong’, Mccree gives the man a good shake and slam into the wall.

He isn’t fighting back, half from not actually committing a real fight, and a half from still being super tired. “I’m right here, speaking to you /right now/. I know what I think, and what I always thought.” He sorely wishes that Mccree could see his face- no dear god, no he’s, he’s so glad that he can’t. Reaper’s neck cranes up anyways, flicking a nose up at him dismissively.

The gunslinger, unfortunately, goes gaping for the bait like a starved dog. “What, that’s why you went and tossed me aside, Reyes?”

“Reyes is dead, boy. You, and Jack, and /Overwatch/, and /all that shit/. You did this to me, and /yourself/.”

“I didn’t do /shit/-“ but he’s interrupted by a bark to his side, his gaze snapping to who might intervene in their little heart-warming reunion.

“Jesse! I swear to fucking hell-“ Jack’s by himself, and blind from a lack of visor still, but he charges Mccree like a man without fear.

“No YOU, I swear to hell for you, you fuckin’ back water piece of shit. Lying to me, to my /face/-“ Reaper is content to sit limply in Jesse’s faltering grasp while the two of them bickered like imbeciles.

“What the hell did I lie to you about?!” Stopping a few feet before him, he gestures in confusion with shrugged shoulders and a shake of his head.

“You telling me that he’s ‘gettin’ better’? That you let him go out there and fuckin’, get himself hurt?”

“Aw, how thoughtful of you to care about me getting shot.”

“Shut the hell up.” He shakes the wraith for good measure, slamming him back into the wall again.

“Were you even listening to the comms? When, in that situation, was his getting himself shot /my/ fault.”

“Oh, no, I forgot, /nothin’s/ ever your fault, is it Morrison?”

“Alright, alright, reign it in for a minute here-“ With his horrible mood over the course of the day, talking someone down was definitely not something he was well equipped for. There're regrets now that he’d given poor Reinhardt the slip in the hope that by himself he might have collected his emotions better- but who plans ahead for ‘old underling goes off the deep end and wants to assault you and an amnesiac’. He should’ve talked to Hanzo back at the medbay. “You’re right. I did act like that.” His admission grants Reaper his feet back on the floor, Mccree tilting a head and incredulous to Jack’s ‘honesty’. “Today’s been a real good day for realizing my mistakes, so you’re in luck there.”

Mccree’s eyes glance down and over Jack’s body; he has a shirt now, but the bites slip out from under the collar and onto his neck. A metal arm slips under Reaper’s neck so he can press and point at the other man with his free arm, “No matter what you do, you can’t help but act mighty, huh? Look at him, he’s got your blood on his fuckin’ claws! /LITERALLY/, literal blood! What did you keep lettin’ him do to you?” Reaper gently raps the claws across the gunslinger’s fleshed arm he still gripped lightly. He thought he’d wiped most of it off, but he guesses he must’ve missed a spot.

His head lowers, /sighing/. “I am /not/ trying to sound mighty. I’m trying to sound the opposite, honestly. You sound real tired, Jesse.”

“The only thing I’m getting’ mighty tired of is your shit.”

“What part are you maddest about?”

“.. Nothin’s changed at all. He’s still a fuckin’ monster. He’s always going to be a fuckin monster.”

“That’s not true.”

“It’s entirely true.” Reaper interjects- Mccree forces that metal arm into his throat, and it chokes him, but not enough to stop a tiny chuckle.

“Shut up.” His head is still turned towards Jack. “You ain’t givin’ me any idea that you’re doing him any good.”

“Maybe I’m not. But I’m doing something. What would you propose instead?”

He turns back to face Reaper, easing down on his trachea, “.. I dunno.”

Jack moves a bit again to stand closer, but the cowboy postures and rumbles, so he stays where he is. “You want a hand off on the reigns?”

“Like he’d give me that choice. ‘Sides, that’s what little girls are for, apparently.” Reaper opens his mouth just a bit to defend the Hana he was implying, but Mccree catches him with a choke far before the sound can come from his mouth. He laughs again instead.

“What if I was looking to go out for a while.”

“.. You lookin’ to leave? Don’t think the boys on top would let you.”

“I’d like to see them try to stop me. And yes, I’m thinking about it. Looking at him like.. this.” He gestures to Reaper, hand sweeping wide over him, “Makes me remember why I was out there in the first place.”

“.. Talon, right.”

“Yeah. And he told me so himself, last night, when he was thinking a little differently.”

“I don’t remember talking to you at all last night.” Reaper hisses, legitimately confused.

“You wouldn’t. You were… having problems with your head.” He nearly chuckles to remember, but chokes it down. He nearly has Mccree back down, the man still heaving with irritation, but not so much yelling anymore. Laughing will not make that better. “Jesse, I told you before, and I wasn’t lying. I want to do what I can to help. Not just him.”

“Don’t blame me for not takin’ you seriously on that. If I hadn’t done what you’d been to ask me that night years ago, maybe he wouldn’t have kicked me out like a useless dog.”

“That wasn’t him. It was Talon, I promise.”

“No, I was actually fuckin’ there, I promise /you/, Morrison. Outta his own mouth. Like a dog.”

“Here’s a peachy thought for the both of you.” Oh, oh no. Reaper, Reyes, please. Shush. I’m so close. Mccree’s head slowly turns back to the arrogant man beneath his arm, but lets him speak his peace. “You’re both wrong? Talon did nothing except give me what I needed to get the power I so rightly /deserved/,” His head wiggles at the other older man, but he doesn’t take the bait. “ and, and I would have tossed you out regardless of what you did, because you were a failure, and a fool. I raised you and you still fucked it up.”

Jack bites his lips and presses forward, taking the initiative now to push his body between Mccree and the extremely unhelpful Reaper- but he hears a gun cock and freezes. He doesn’t…./think/, that Jesse will shoot him- but he can’t /see/ where that extremely large revolver was pointing. He swallows, back up, raises his palms in good will. “Jesse, no.”

But he won’t talk to Jack anymore. “You wanna be outta my life again so fuckin’ badly you train wreck of a pile a’ shit.” Reaper hears the weapon as well, and thinks he’s had his head blown off enough times for the past little while he doesn’t need a repeat experience. A solid punch from his clawed hand should incapacitate a normal man, but the wraith is confused to meet the solid matter of his synthetic stomach, and Mccree continues to be unaffected. There’s no real flesh here, when did he stop having a stomach? “I asked you, a /question/. I /SAID/, REYES, YOU WANNA BE OUTTA MY LIFE AGAIN SO BAD?”

“Sure! Fine, is that what you want me to spit out for you?”

It’s the worst choice of words for a man who had /just claimed/ not wanting to be shot in the face again. Even if, and even though Jack wants to intervene, he can’t react faster than the gunslinger can cock and fire his weapon. The Peacemaker presses up against his skull façade, and a shot rings off. Under the influence of the collar that solidifies Reaper’s form, the close-range bullet tears into the metal and shatters it, bullet ricocheting to the side, but leaving a massive break in the mask; the shrapnel digs into his still healing flesh. Screeching in pain, he thrashes for a better fight now; Jesse takes a good few punches to the arm and face while Reaper works to wiggle from the grasp of the metal arm, but it’s no easy task, especially now that he’s wounded in the head, /again/. “Be free then, you god damned traitor.” A hand grips against his face and slams back full force into the wall again- he seems to stop and think himself over for a moment, before he brings the revolver to Reaper’s neck- and the collar. It’s still working, and it’s still solid, so Mccree spends nearly the rest of his clip into the metal ring. He readjusts his prosthetic grip to the hole in Reaper’s face, pressing into the now seeable eye and ripping at the mask. The collar’s armour shatters, just a bit, but by the third bullet it sparks and flicks ‘off’, and Mccree slams his fist into the wall behind him when suddenly, the wraith is no longer solid. The remaining mass of fog and death slumps to the floor uselessly- and unusually, Jack thinks, simply writhes on the floor there while semi-permeable instead of fleeing or disintegrating entirely.

It takes literally five seconds for this to occur, and another two seconds for Jack to decide to tackle Mccree to the ground regardless of the status of his gun. Apparently satisfied with his over the top response, he lets himself be tackled- they both fall too hard and a bit off from where Reaper lays now- the older man throttles his neck and forces him to face him, “Are you in absolutely no control of yourself?!”

“Apparently not! Apparently, I never was!” Despite not doing much to stop himself from being tackled, he gives him a good kick and buck to the side, failing to remove Jack from his grasp on his collar.

“Alright, you listen here you little shit-“

“And why-“

“NO, YOU, SHUT. LISTEN.” He’d kept so calm beforehand, that when he actually speaks in fury, it shuts Jesse like a scolded child. “I’m going to leave now, and you’re going to walk away, and when anyone asks, I did this. “

“What- fuck, why? Why would you-“

“Just /do it/.” He moves to stand, hauling Mccree back on his feet with a pained grunt.

“Jack- they- They’re never going to believe me.”

“I don’t care. Fucking /get/.” With a solid push, he turns the growing sheepish man towards the far hallway, nearly shoving him off his feet again. He turns back to argue- but the /face/ and the pointed finger Morrison gives him makes him swallow his words. He still gives the older man a biting expression, but stamps off, hand raising to the shiner he’d definitely be sporting later, and the blood that oozed from his nearly broken nose.

In the growing silence from far away footsteps, Jack groans, yells, pulls his hair and leans over to bark out his frustrations to himself. Sharply, he turns to Reaper again- who is still ghosting, but on the floor…? He thinks he should question it, but the rage from today was boiling him over now, instead he leans down and slams a hand into the fog, gripping and tugging it towards him to whisper. “You can say whatever the fuck you want, Reyes, but I’m doing this for you. You can go and take it personally again or whatever. You got that.”

There’s a quiet gurgle from inside the mass, but he doesn’t have the time to argue with the decaying man right now.

It takes him about fifteen minutes to grab his mask and whatever he feels like bringing with him when he goes- and Reyes is still on the floor. With a sigh, he sends Reinhardt a quick, nonchalant message, “Can you meet me by my room?” He’ll be long gone by the time the larger man arrives.

Before he walks out towards the opposite hall, he mumbles down, “Please don’t take this to heart.”

He doesn’t hear Reyes whine back as he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a hard drive fail while writing this! i also had my long distance SO visiting for ten days. now pokemon is going to come out and i have to rewrite an entire two chapters of mistakes! aaarrrgggghhhh!


	13. ch13(rain)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> but i wish you wouldn't

Reinhardt can’t believe Jack gave him the slip so fast. Their conversations were stilted and forced, uneventful, yes- and in his downtrodden mood, Jack had no interesting in visiting their new omnic friends, lest he offend them with his sass. “I’m just going to the bathroom, Reinhardt, honestly. I’ll be right back.” The bathroom, the one place Reinhardt would let the visually impaired go along by himself, regardless of how well he seemed to navigate around by himself.

That was half an hour ago, and the larger man sighs, alone in the kitchen. He’s definitely gone. Reinhardt checks his phone, tries to be patient, tries to trust Jack, but alas. He’s very grateful when someone else enters- it’s Genji, with his brother, and Zenyatta, who’d Reinhardt had become acquainted with. No sign of Mccree.

“Oh, hello my friends!”

“Hello Reinhardt! .. You look distressed.” Genji isn’t wearing his mask; he was getting in the habit of doing that on base, but Reinhardt was still getting used to that fact. It’s nice to see his expression unfiltered, the way his eyebrows knit in concern.

“.. Do I look so? I was supposed to be watching Jack, but he left me alone in the kitchen.” He rests his cheek in his palm, feigning an expression of sadness. Well, mostly feigning. He’s a little real life sad.

“Ohh, you are a suffering man.” The cyborg steps before his brother and friend, idling a hand on the larger man’s shoulder, “Is something the matter with Morrison?” Genji glances back to Zenyatta for a moment, but there’s a context there the larger man doesn’t grasp.

“Him and Reaper are not doing well.”

“Oh that’s not a good sign.”

“Mn? More than I think?”

“We can’t find Mccree.”

“.. That is a predicament indeed..” Reinhardt remembers the conversation him, Jack and Angela had had earlier today. His beforehand faked expression of distaste is now entirely real, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed.

“I told you I had a feeling, after seeing him last night.” Zenyatta speaks, voice quiet. Hanzo huffs in an apparent dismissal of the omnic’s foresight.

“Well, then we just have to find Jesse first! How hard can it be.”

“Since we’ve been looking all morning, apparently, it’s hard.” The elder Shimada hisses, and turns back towards the door, raising a denying hand when his brother turns to follow.

“.. Well, it wouldn’t be Overwatch without high tensions, am I right?!” Genji slams his hand down on Reinhardt’s shoulder, lip curled into a snarl, and a pained smirk.

 Reinhardt can only laugh in response, shaking his head in agreeance; but Zenyatta gives them a tilted head of ‘stop that’.  “That is a terrible way to conduct things.”

“I’m sorry, Master. We’re not doing it on purpose.”

“I know, I know.” The omnic is concerned, but doesn’t mean to blame it on them, entirely, at least. Turning his head back towards the kitchen door, “Do you trust your brother to find the man you’re after?”

“I am surprised to admit it myself, but somewhere in the months or so since we’ve been here, my brother has become much more inclined to the new man Jesse has turned himself into in the five years we’ve been apart.”

“I will also admit me and him have not had a singular conversation since your arrival..” Reinhardt hums a note of concern, continuing. “He seemed the same but you’re telling me, and Jack, has told me he’s become quite cagey.”

“Unfortunately! He put on a very good front for myself as well… Well, since he isn’t here, I think me and Zenyatta will continue on elsewhere.”

“Of course, my friend! Tell me how it goes.” Maybe he should get up and find Jack, but he doesn’t know where to get started either.

It’s another fifteen minutes when he gets a small message on his phone, from his aforementioned missing. ‘Can you meet me by my room?’ Aha! You finally got bored and lonely, did you my friend? Reinhardt rises stiffly, stretching, and takes a leisurely pace towards Jack’s room.

\---

Regret sinks inside him when he turns the final hall corner and sees, what he can only guess, is the writhing mass of Reaper on the floor in front of the door. At first, he thinks that his disrepair is due to Reaper attacking Jack, but when he thumps over angry, the mass looks up at him weakly- a single, blood-red eye from beyond the evaporating mask that stares up, scared and /begging/. The larger man’s aggression is torn down in an instant from that look alone, but also from the fact that closer up now, the ghost seems to be literally falling apart at the seams. Quickly, Reinhardt grabs his comm, and hails Winston.

“Winston, please respond. Something is wrong with Reyes. I’d gotten a message from Jack to meet him at his room but when I got here, I’d just found Gabriel on the floor- but his collar isn’t working. He isn’t being violent, though…?”

After a few seconds of crackling and static he assumes is Winston turning his comm on, he hears him reply, “Yes, he is injured, something happened Athena didn’t see, but his collar is very broken. You’re there, with him?” He sounds out of breath, making the distance between his office and the dorms in a rush. Which isn’t comforting at all in the assumed state of health Reaper was in- the man folds over again, face gently pressing into the floor and gurgling. It stinks, the nanites floating around Reinhardt’s feet permeate his pants and crawl about his legs.

“I am with him, yes.”

“Can you do me and him a deep personal favour? Can you get any purchase on his form enough to grab him and drag him to the medbay?”

“Do you think I will have trouble lifting him.”

“Try it and you tell me.”

Kneeling down, a large hand tries to pat around and find anywhere that’s solid- but unlike the few nights before when Reaper’s head was removed and he was sort of making it, Reinhardt’s fingers sinks in everywhere he touches. When he tries to grab, the material squishes from his fingers. He, disturbingly, is ungrab-able. “Winston, I’m having some.. problem, here- Ah, wait, don’t throw the towel in for me yet…”

Reinhardt can feel the metal of his claws, and of other parts of his body, better than the rest of it. “Come, Reyes. Gabriel, here. Grab onto me.” He’s quiet, but stern in his commands, tapping a finger on the underside of his mask to grab attention. Still conscious, but barely, the mass rises and hisses, but from it, two limbs with claws form out, and cling onto the man’s offered arm. The metal sticks into his flesh like literal claws, but it’d never be the worst he’d had done to him, and if that’s how he can manage to hold on, so be it. With a heave, the mass comes along with him- Reinhardt tries to grab better hold with his other arm, but it’s no real use, it sinks in as uselessly as before.. Or so he had thought. Reaper lifts himself with great effort to crawl his chest into the second given, and Reinhardt feels the stop of something inside, more solid than the rest again. It’s not metal, however; he can only guess it’s a ribcage. Which is disgusting. The hold is precarious, and as moments go by, it’s obvious that i not a lasting position, so the larger man gets his ass moving to where he’d been told.

Angela is caught completely unprepared by the interlopers when they arrive. She sputters out her confusion in her native tongue, half asleep in a book at her desk, but slams right into work mode when she realizes the scene before her. “- _For fucks_ -; What in the hell happened?”

Her move towards the two of them is hit with a dismissive hand gesture, unwilling to share the effects of the irritated nanites crawling on himself already. “I am unsure. Winston did not tell me, but he told me to bring him here, and I obliged. He should be here soon? Maybe. Did he not tell you first?” Reinhardt hadn’t wanted to put the man down, less he had to lift him again, but Reaper had other plans; or possibly, weakness. He feels Reyes slip from his grasp on his arm, and no matter how he tries to grip onto the unsolid mass, he falls to the floor with an unceremoniously /wet/ thud. Both Reinhardt and the doctor before him shudder at the disgusting display; he flicks his arm of the excess goo, but much of it evaporates instantly anyways. The crawling feeling is far less long lasting than it was days ago.

“Oh my /god/, he /better be here soon/. I’m going to call him myself- Athena.” She backtracks, hailing the AI computer by the door instead.

She takes a few seconds to chime in, “Apologies Dr. Zeigler- something is wrong with his collar.”

“Obviously? Just turn it off, I will deal with him myself if I need to.”

“This is the problem, it is no longer responding to commands. He got into an argument with Morrison and Mccree outside of his room and one of the two of them broke it.”

“You didn’t see?”

“There is a missing area of the dorms in my database. It is like that way to preserve privacy.”

“Ach, I knew that, but it is still stupid. If you aren’t busy, put out a call that if anyone sees or hears from either of them, to inform me at once, and that if they receive the call themselves, they should report to me immediately and go back to their rooms until I come for them.” There’s a thought between the both of them to the conversation they had much earlier this morning. So much for trying to catch the ball before it broke the window.

“Of course, Dr. Zeigler. The message is out.” Reinhardt hears his phone buzz in his pocket to let it be known for sure.

Reaper curls into the floor while they talk, the gurgling quieting down. “.. Athena, what is wrong with his collar. Shouldn’t it not work at all, or at the least, be forcing him together? It looks like it’s… ah..”

“It’s doing the exact opposite. It’s a design flaw Winston has since spotted now, but..”

“.. That’s… It isn’t becoming solid itself, either, how the hell are you going to get it off!” When the idea of it sinks in, Angela barks back at the AI, despite her having not much else she could do about it. It’s directed towards Winston, who couldn’t even hear, or so she thought couldn’t hear.

“We’re working on it.”

“Right /now/? You didn’t think about this before?”

“He was unaware that this could be a problem later.”

Reinhardt’s comm chirps on. Winston. “Can you tell her to turn her comm’s on so I can talk for myself instead of just getting yelled at through Athena.”… Reinhardt tries not to laugh, but in the stress, it’s hard and he fails. The look of pure frustration he receives for this from Angela could kill a normal man, which only makes him laugh more.

“Wait wait, no, Angela, just turn on your comm- I’m not laughing at you!”

“You! I should- Agh, ok…” It’s on her desk, so she taps back to it to grab and turn it on. Winston hears her chirp in, but can’t speak before she starts, “I can’t believe you! Please, at least tell me, the new one you were making, is good enough that we can use it!”

“It is, it is!... Sort of! I’ve been having trouble making a few of the smaller parts, even with Mei’s help.. I don’t have a machine for this kind of minute work anymore… I need a better solution.”

“Bring it, and bring the specs. At the least, you have to figure out how to get this one /off/.”

“I will, I will Angela! I.. Dr. Zeigler, I don’t know what you think you can do to help this, I am better off in my lab-“

“Satya’s hardlight arm still functions and can make /very/ tiny pieces. Bring your things and your specs here.”

“Are… Are you sure she’ll even..?”

“I’m not going to give her an option, but /yes/, she will help.”

“.. If you say so!” Honestly, Winston is right the hell out of ideas anyways.

\----

He hasn’t felt quite this blissfully dying since he had first, well. Died. Initially, he feared for it, at the feet of his old lover, and then when that one left despite his cries for help, at the feet of his old friend. Reyes was grateful that someone else would come to help him; him, a traitor and a fool, but as the larger man awkwardly palms around his permeable organs and meat, Gabriel can’t help but brood on the thoughts that he’d been left behind again by who he’d most wanted to be saved by. He might want to spare a couple worried thoughts to how his friend seems incapable of grabbing him- but sometimes, it feels a bit like scratching an ancient itch, and he arches into the touch. Time travels by like flashes in his mind, where silent walking and waiting is instantaneous. Voices perk up his muted senses from beyond the haze of his re-dying; like when Reinhardt issues, deep and booming, but close enough to his ‘head’ he makes out the words, a command to grab on to a blindly given arm. Again, later, he hears the bright, hot light of Mercy pierce through, shrill and demanding, but she’s a bit too far away to understand- and he’s on the floor again, he guesses.

Her shrill argues with his deep for some time, and he feels the beat of it, of footsteps rattling the floor. From a distance, something large and loud stamps towards the room as well, vibrating the floor. Almost like two sets of steps, but not quite…?

There’s a fist in his torso again, demanding his attention, but Gabriel doesn’t feel like giving it any. He feels very much like he’s just going to sleep now. It’s bed time. It’s late in the day, y’know, probably, he’s tired. Not allowed, however, he’s assaulted by that giant hand again- it isn’t Reinhardt Gabriel muses in silent confusion, it tugs at his ‘head’, lifting it despite its lack of form, and then speaks, “Come on, Reyes, I know you aren’t already dead. Give me a sign.”

He’s extremely tempted not too, but it seems like the monkey won’t leave him alone to rest again unless he responds to his pestering. Delicately, limbs like arms reach to either side again from his mass, and lifts up his weary self to look over at who he sees tormenting him, a singular red eye peeking from beyond a shattered mask. It’s a blurry gorilla alright. Grumbling, he flicks a chin towards him with annoyance, but instead, Winston just laughs at him, overjoyed to have even gotten a response.

“Alright, you can hear me, right?”

Gabriel nods, slowly. I mean, barely, yes, I can hear you. Get a little closer. Gabriel thinks about the words he might speak, but it comes out a whine and grumble in his chest. With that failure, he instead gets a bit closer himself to the scientist, dragging his mass behind.

“Yeah, that’s good. Don’t waste your strength yet though, I need you to try to do something strenuous for me- hell, no, not /trying/, I need you to do this.”

Well, that isn't reassuring. He doesn’t feel like doing much of anything but sleep, and here, this stupid monkey thinks he’ll have it in him to do something he’d considered /strenuous/. Shaking his head, ‘no’, he moves to lay back down- but he’s caught up by Winston again, and from behind, Reinhardt.

“No, no no, not an option my friend.” From behind, the larger man grabs his attention enough he rises on his hands again. His ‘friend’, yes. They’re friends, and it would be rude of him to let his friend down, especially after having not been left down, alone in the hallway some half an hour earlier. The very least he can do is… ‘try’.

“That’s right, get back up. Listen, okay Reyes? Gabriel?”

Yes, Gabriel. He perks up in response to his first name, squinting at Winston, and listening to his apparent command. He’s the boss here, right? He’s the new boss, since Jack keeps leaving.

“In three, two, one,” Winston gestures with fingers, catching the ghost’s attention with the movement of it. “You’re going to give me your /everything/, and you’re going to form yourself so I can snap that collar off.”

What ‘everything’ does Winston think he has left that he could give to do such a thing. Shaking his head, ‘no’, again, he implies he has that nothing more to give.

“That’s not true, I’m sure it isn’t. You have to do this, or you’re going to fall apart.”

Good.

“We’ve worked really hard to far, so it would be a massive waste of resources if you fell now.”

Ha, ‘resources’… Okay, actually. Gabriel finds himself getting a little upset to think so much money and time would be wasted in the wake of his death. Reinhardt perks a bit beside him, dragging a hand across his ‘back’. Pretending to be comforting. Looking again to the scientist, he efforts to sigh, but nods instead.

“Okay. Three, two, one, and then you go, ok?”

Nod nod. Not on one, but a pace after one. Winston sinks his hands around Gabriel’s assumed neck to prepare- he hopes he’s making a good guess as to where the device will make itself shown, and that it hasn’t, in an extra fit of stupid terrible luck, traveled somewhere else in his body.

“Three. Two. One. Go!”

There’s no question in himself that he doesn’t have the energy to do what Winston has asked him to do, but he /tries/ for them regardless. For a moment, they can /see/ him try, the spattering of him, the fitting wisps that clump together uselessly, but he doesn’t quite have it. It eases down, and Winston thinks to remove himself, having failed, when a /fire/ starts up inside the ghost. With a screech and the deepest rumble, he forms his entire self, no gas or ooze. Something else inside refusing to let him relent to sleep.

Winston is so infinitely thankful for his instinct, and in the given moment, forces his digits from where they stick into the remnants of Reaper’s flesh, finds the metal of the collar, and reaves on it. Already damaged, and under the duress of full gorilla strength, it /shatters/, its five or so bits sparking and flying off in either direction away from them.

Gabriel thinks maybe that the other man overestimates how much he’d have left over after the collar was gone, but after a few seconds, he changes his mind. He was definitely the one underestimating himself, and though still tired, his body comes together, and he curls up again, half formed on the floor, resting his head down on his arm.

The chatter above him is distinct now, two women, no, three, and two men. Angela, two strangers, Winston, Reinhardt. It’s significantly less muffled now, but time still passes instantly between spaces of silence.

“I’m done. I… improved, some things.” Stranger. East Indian. Snarky.

“.. Like what?” Winston, concerned.

“Some of your lines were built where they /would/ function, but not as best as they could. I am assuming it is because you were working at a larger scale, but I do not know your common work habits.” She’s so cynical, mocking his work that she was apparently helping replace, Reaper can’t help but laugh on the floor, his entire body shaking in the strain. Reinhardt is still by his side, and gives him a few solid pats of encouragement.

“Oh, come on, it was the first model! Nothing starts off perfect.”

“.. Maybe for you.”

“It doesn’t matter! If I put it on him right now, will it help?” Angela snaps between the two of them, and Reaper can’t stop chuckling from the floor- drunk from weariness.

“I do not know the full nature of this poor man’s demise enough to confirm this, but it will do now, even more efficiently, what is was designed to do. In a very lightly researched answer, however, yes. It will ‘help’.”

“Ok, then just, /do it/. Argue about your scientific methods later.”

What, Angela? Do you not trust me? From a scraping feeling in his head, he suddenly feels untrustable. Months of social structuring work on him fades in the haze, and when he’s reminded of it from their conversation, he unfolds and rises, rumbling at the crowd. Or he would- there’s a hand on his back still, pushing him back down. Reinhardt. Injured, Reaper has no interest in ghosting away, but that feeling will fade soon in his lost consciousness. “That is the bell chiming, my friends. Go ahead now or forever hold your peace.”

He feels the pull of his hood being removed, and while he salts about it with hisses and barks, his subconscious wills the rowdy Reaper to settle against Winston’s grip. Their new, ‘upgraded’ tool of subjugation clicks around his neck- it’s a bit looser than the last one, and has a lining of soft inside, but most importantly, it doesn’t burn at all like his broken one had earlier, even before it was shot off. It doesn’t turn on immediately, and with his still shattered mask and singular visible eye, he looks up at his offender with a sound and look of confusion. Where’s the burn, where’s the pain like the last one?

“I didn’t turn it on yet, I thought I’d give you a warning when I did.”

Coughing a bit first, he rasps, “If it fucks up again, I’ll kill you.” Hey, real language again! How nice.

“God, I think I’ll just die from embarrassment. I don’t know what it’d going to feel like when it turns on.”

“Just do it.” He sneers, not breaking eye contact.

“Alright.”

In a delightful surprise, there’s no pain. Instead, he blacks out, body and head slamming into the floor with complete rigidity.

\---

“… It works!”

Reyes’ is on the floor, obviously unconscious, but there’s literally zero smoke, no ooze, no fanfare. For some time, the six of them sit in absolute silence after Winston’s exclamation, waiting for the man on the floor to move. Just in case, you know. The collar simply granted him death. Instead, his body jerks, and wheezes, like it’s having trouble breathing. There’s an exchange of horrified stares- but in a few choked breaths, it seems he figures it out, and… snores. Well, he is face first on the floor, folded into an uncomfortable position. Knees beneath, ass in the air. Everyone sighs in relief, the stress of their last hour sinking away and leaving them drained. Reinhardt turns him over on his side, tugs the hood over his eyeline and lets him some level of dignity in his nap.

“.. Any sign on Mccree or Morrison, Athena?” Angela breaks the silence again while Winston lays a concerned hand on their science experiment. He doesn’t look like he enjoys what he feels, him and Reinhardt exchanging concerned looks, but the doctor is distracted for the moment.

“I was waiting uncomfortably for you to ask.”

“Are you here to give me more bad news.”

“Jesse Mccree is still in the facility, but he’s ‘somewhere’. Hanzo, Genji and Zenyatta are hot for it. Jack Morrison, however, slipped past defenses and escaped into Gibraltar city main. D.VA and Tracer are after him, but I could not allow Lucio to go with them.”

“.. Okay, that’s not what I wanted to hear. So I guess… Morrison broke his collar? And his face..” That really was not her first guess, and she will still question the hell out of him when the cowboy becomes found.

“It looks like it. Perhaps Mccree defended him and failed, or perhaps they conspired together and Jack betrayed. We won’t know until either of them can be found.”

“I’ll start looking for Jesse, I guess, if we’re all good here?” She looks to Satya, who is the only real patient here, and the woman shrugs, turns away and heads back into the medbay proper, since it seemed Winston wasn’t in the mood for a scientific debate. When Angela looks to Winston on the floor with Reaper and Reinhardt, she doesn’t like the look of continued concern he has. “What.”

“He’s really.. hot.”

“He’s h- what?” Leaning down with him now, she places a hand on the downed man’s back, and sure enough, he’s warm as hell in his center. As she inspects around his entire frame, he’s warmer than he should be pretty much everywhere. “Why would he be? Every other time we’ve done tests he’s been extremely cold.”

“Maybe it’s working the nanites too hard.”

Mei, who Angela and basically everyone one else had forgotten sitting sleepy and blanket covered in the doctor’s desk chair, speaks for the first time tonight. “The nanites are still trying to work too hard from before, it’s not in the collar’s specs to be hard on them like that. They’ll shut down eventually.”

“But will he survive in the meantime?” The other woman’s words of comfort do Angela no good; she turns her head between the two of them.

“I mean, I.. I don’t know. He keeps doing things to make me look like I don’t know much of anything. Actually, now that I think about it, you’re the nanite expert here, Angela.”

“…..I sure am. No, they will start to expire if they stay this hot for too long.” Rubbing her face, she groans under the strain of having too many things to think about.

“Can you just, cool them off? Like, if you freeze them…” Mei speaks, apparently having a vague idea.

“I mean….Technically? But I don’t know what we would have to do that. I mean.. we have a fridge but..” Please don’t make them have to drag Reyes and stuff him into the freezer. Reinhardt shrugs, already moving to lift his apparent charge and take him to the god damned kitchen.

“Mnn, no no, wait right here! I’ll be right back, go put him on a bed.” She skitters off, not actually telling them her plan, and not stopping when Angela sputters for her to return and explain herself. Left with nothing else, Reinhardt hauls the now delightfully easy to carry Reaper into the medbay, and into the cot furthest from where Satya called home- but also furthest from the windows.

None are pleased to see that Mei has returned with what looks to be a small robot toy. It squeaks a cheery tune to them, tiny ears perking, “Wait wait, it is not as stupid as it looks! I designed it, so of course it looks cute.” Mei shakes her head at herself, mumbling and sheepish in the fact one of her greatest inventions was so darn useless looking, but only /looking/. “Mnn, move from the bed if you don’t want to be cold.”

Still wordless from shock and confusion, they take their steps back, and she presses some command into the tiny little robot. It chirrups in response, and she tosses it towards the prone man.

“Don’t just throw something at hi-..oh…okay, r-…right.”

It floats just before impact, supported by a stream of frost and tiny graviton pads on its base. After a few moments, the chill picks up; even from their distance, the three of them nearby can feel it’s breeze. The reaction from Reyes is instantaneous; still apparently unconscious, he rises shaky hands to grasp at the robot and pull it closer, despite its tiny complaints. Mei seems unconcerned he might break it, knowing full well how resilient her little friend is.

“.. I’m very glad that I don’t have to haul him all the way to the kitchen!” Reinhardt exclaims, stepping over towards Mei and giving her a solid pat on the back.

“Oof! Well, anything to help, I guess! It should turn off in about half an hour, but I can come back here and check if he’s still too hot, if you guys have other things to do.”

“I would appreciate it if you could, Mei. I have two convicts to wrangle for information. And probably, to lock in jail, so, you know. Reinhardt, you are free to go to bed.”

“Would you tell me no if I asked to come with instead?”

“We shouldn’t all have to suffer, and I might think to need you more tomorrow when I’m so tired I could sleep forever.”

“Alright, alright, I will try to rest instead. My phone will be on. Maybe consider rising Fareeha?”

“My god that is an excellent idea.”

Angela waits a short while longer after Reinhardt and Winston leave, Mei and her standing in silence before they shuffle to leave. Reyes looks to be in growing health at this point, and, something about a watched pot never boiling. To break the tension, the other woman speaks timidly, “One time, when I had first spoken to Jesse, he said he was a bad boy.. but I did not take him seriously!”

“Well, he isn’t in the fire yet. There’s a chance that he was acting in the best interest.”

“I hope, but..” The other woman shrugs at Angela, nosing around her words in the best way she could put it. “We drink a lot together and his mood is very…strange.”

“.. Where are you getting alcohol?”

“I had some, but I don’t anymore. I came back to my room tonight, and what little I had left was gone. I’m quite certain who took it.”

“Nice.” Angela types down several messages at once to the names given earlier after each of the respective two lost fugitives. Mccree is found and has been ‘escorted’ back to Hanzo’s lockable room, and Jack, to their great misfortune, was lost from Tracer’s sight some twenty minutes ago. Hana says she might’ve seen him shortly after Tracer misplaced him, but doesn’t have him now. There’s an implication they had a conversation and that Hana simply let him leave. Jack continues to have a silver tongue, that she despises.

\-----

Hana is half asleep on Lucio, who is on the couch, when Lena bursts in with a flurry of words and flustered- she startles more when Lucio jumps and yelps at the extremely sudden interruption, neither of them catch the first couple words- “But no one else is up and everyone is busy but I can’t go out myself I mean I’m fast enough, but am I /wiley/ enough, I mean he’s been on the run for years and no one has caught him yet-“

“WHOA WHOA OK, SISTER, HOLD IT.” Hana remembers she has to speak loud and commanding to break Lena’s track, and even then, the teleporter withers out her last couple of words before succumbing to embarrassed silence. Rising from her Lucio perch, Hana wobbles sleepily over to the panicked other, snapping a finger- “Beginning, what?”

“Reyes got in a fight with Morrison and Mccree and then he escaped and I have to catch him but I’m by myself.” She still doesn’t /breath/ when she speaks, but Hana is very used to dealing with super fast.

“Whoa wait, ok, Reyes escaped? How, with his collar-“

“Nonono, I mean, sorry, Morrison escaped, Reyes is injured and Mccree is somewhere on base.”

“Ohhh shit, do I have to kick the shit outta two grown men- ‘cause I’ll do it.”

“I’m sure you would love, but, I gotta find him first!”

“Him, Morrison? Old white haired dude. Alright, Lucio, look lively and we’ll go.”

“Aight, I should get my fast pants then…”

“I’m not sure we have time to run all the way back to your room-“

“We do, I thoughta that, but I’m bein’ told now I /can’t/ bring you, Lucio! You’re really.. easy to recognize.”

.. He leans back on the couch, pursing his lips, “Yup, I sure did do that to myself.”

“.. Whaaaat, and I’m not?”

“You a little less? A wee bit, at least… Also, you aren’t a wanted criminal. I’m workin’ with what I got!”

“Well, let’s take the time you took to, what I can only assume was you fucking with time, to just get a head start between me and you. Huphup. Lucio, hold up the fort.”, fingerguns, “Maybe see what Reyes is up too.” Hana thought she felt the weird nausea of Tracer messing around with time before she entered- maybe only a spare five minutes or so, but it would be a very appreciated head start indeed.

“Can do, ma’am. Text me if you guys change your mind or need to me grab someone else for you.” So much for a nice quiet evening. It’s a good thing they were napping earlier, to be honest, because Hana was about to have a very long night.

She has only the vaguest of knowledge of the streets of Gibraltar, having come out once or twice for food runs- but with the help of the local PD whom Tracer was in amicable states with, they have a nicely coordinated effort to catch the man.. if he’s still in the city. To Tracer’s timeline, it’s been a little under an hour since he had ‘left’. The police she had contacted earlier claim to have spotted the man and his rifle in several places near the outskirts- and it SEEMS as if he’s waiting down the response before moving on.

The task they ended up giving Lucio was to spot between Tracer and D.VA’s positions. God, she hasn’t been exercising as often as she should have been, or maybe she was just tired tonight. Jack’s giving them a run for their money- Tracer gets /so close/, so many times, but it’s more like he’s leading her on a particular chase, testing stamina.

Hana, however, hasn’t spotted even a trace of the extremely competent man in the half an hour they had been out. She’s way out on the barest edges of town, before it breaks off into highways and forest. There are some men out to either side, long off on roads with flashlights and dogs. It makes her nearly jump out of her skin when her phone chimes softly in a jacket pocket. A text- but, Lucio is in her ear relaying everything for them.

‘old white dude’. Oh come on now, what are you playing at. She looks up and around when she catches the name, without reading the message- but tucks her head back down when she catches eyes with the police instead. Be less suspicious. Reading the message, her lips purse in uncertainty. ‘I see you in a window, behind you, up, to the left.’ … She turns back and looks, acting casually enough. Nothing, nothing. Buzz. ‘One more over.’ … A glint of metal, and red.

When the two other men beside her aren’t paying attention to her wandering around, she makes to the building- abandoned, she swears they checked the hell out of this one earlier.. Lucio questions her movement, but tells him to keep a hush. Tracer’s too far off to join her now- she has a pistol but doubts the man has any intentions of hurting her.

Or she had hoped- her brain catches her foe the moment he breaks into the hallway, but her body can’t keep up with the brute strength and super soldier speed he uses with ease. Pressing her into the nearby wall, he pries the pistol bearing hand away where it can’t shoot even a stray off into his person. There’s an angry Korean ranting at the very least; she kicks out a knee that actually seems to bring him down a notch, but it gives her a throttling into the wall for her effort, and he presses their faces together. If she’s intimidated, Hana doesn’t show it; before his mask she hisses and spits, “What do you want, fuckin’ traitor ass. Two times now, a traitor, isn’t it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He speaks rough and quiet- angry, sure, but collected.

“You! The audacity, to come here like this to me. You lied to me! You lied to all your friends! Reaper, you know, he talked the world about you, but he always said you just worked things out for yourself, but when you said you were gonna help him- you still managed to be a big fake!”

“Fine, believe him, that’s not wrong.” But his tone is all wrong, his voice cracks.

“You didn’t answer me, what do you want. You wanna barter or some shit?”

“I need you to let me leave. Or, I’ll let myself out. I’ve done it before. It sucks, when you have to hurt innocent people, but I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again.” That’s a particularly chilling sentiment, but she holds her ground, despite being pinned and pried away from her weapon.

“What, you think I’m liable to just say, hell, let you go, whatever? I can’t just tell those cops to let a /wanted man/ get gone, even if I wanted to, which I /don’t/.”

“I didn’t say them, I said /you/.”

“Oh, so you’re giving me a chance not to get shot in the legs. Did you give Reaper that same chance before you killed him? AGAIN?”  He’s caught off guard by the way she words it, ‘again’, craning his head back curious. “What, do you think you just shot him and left him and he’d be fine like when Amelie did it? He’s back at the base, fucking /dying/.”

“…He said he couldn’t die.” He switches to desperately defending himself, despite not even being the man who’d done the deed- but, Jack’s still pretending he did.

“Ok, you know, even if he couldn’t die, and he was just back at base full of holes, that’s still not an excuse to shoot your friend- you, he just, he would spend hours fucking pissing and moaning about you! He begged me not to tell or share, and y’know, when you tell him I spilled the beans he’ll hate me- and when, not if, because you ARE coming back to base tonight.”

“After what happened in Brazil, and what I know from before, there’s nothing else I can do there, stuck up and commanded. I’m doing this for him, even though he’d fight me for doing it- just like you’re fighting me for it now. Winston isn’t in a position now or anytime soon to do anything about Talon, but I /could be/. And I need to be. I can’t let what’s happening, or what happened to my company happen anymore. This might be the place for you, or Reyes, or Mccree, but it won’t be mine anymore. Not until I’m done.”

Despite desperately attempting not to be swayed by his appeal, Hana.. finds herself understanding. Lucio can hear them both from her comms- and he knows how much Hana worried before when Reaper came home sputtering and wounded. To herself, even more so she knows the stories Reaper would garble at her on bad nights, about himself and about Amelie.. Even having never personally been face to face with Talon- for a second she thinks to ask to come with Jack instead, but bites her tongue. No. Now, since he’s leaving, she has to stay back with Reaper. It comes to her that it’s another reason the old man had called for her before he left- when the tension fades from her body to struggle with the silent thoughts between them after his spiel, so does the tension in himself to hold her. They end standing each on their own while she muses the options.

“… Is Reyes actually dying.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, tapping a finger to her comms. Lucio is relaying. “No. Winston fixed it. He’s ok now. I mean, probably. Who knows with that guy.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t know the stupid collar would break like it did. You should really think about shooting your friends less, though.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Get gone, dumbass. Tracer is coming.”

There’s not really much else they can tell each other. She stays inside when he sprints off into the night. Dogs bark, men shout, engine rev, but there’s no gunfire. Guess he kept something she said to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then mercy, like a true angel from heaven, screeches down from the sky and puts everyone in baby jail for being babies


	14. ch14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 86 MICROWAVE BURRITOS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's porn at the end of this, and accidentally probably some self-indulgence.

It’s like the faltering click of the starter to his engine for solid seconds passing; eyes flick open, fluttering to stay open. Sturdy hands before in his unconsciousness gripping something above him, now shift to shaking violently as his body fails to divert energy around to bring around his awakening. Click click click. Gabriel forces himself to sit despite the engine failing to start, grinding the key into the ignition; the stress of being prone and weak somewhere completely foreign leaves him in a state he might consider a panic attack in a later reflection, and unable to calmly assess the situation. His brain has no idea where to focus- a clean slate lays mentally in front of him- his memory clears past Talon, past Overwatch, and in a desperate grip, falls back into somewhere ancient. He grips and tears at invisible IV’s and drips he spots in his basic memory; instead, metal claws catch against, now loose on his frame, a pleather suit that encompasses his body in stifling tightness. Something to occupy his mind, he wills himself to free himself from this material prison rather than worry the logistics of where he was and why this looked nothing like a SEP medical facility.

There’s no seam to this damned thing- where he might expect at the waistline for a shirt or even the supposed jacket of this outfit to break apart, it’s just all one piece. In the struggle, he pushes the icy robot he’d been clinging to earlier to the side- it complains but can do nothing to stop him. For a long while, the only thing he manages to clatter to the floor is the mask, the only thing that has a damned clasp. He ignores it for a moment in the dark, but from beyond his separating curtain a light flicks on, and the streak it glows across the floor; he can see ‘himself’, Reaper, broken there, the massive hole in the eye not enough obscuring the intimidating silhouette that Reaper had made for himself in the skull alone.

It serves enough to start the wheel where his brain right remember rightly where he was, but doesn’t stop him from continuing his violent assault on his clothes. When he decides that since no one has come to stop him yet, SEP or otherwise, they mustn’t care much what he does to it, and with these given claws, takes to shredding it wherever it gives purchase to be shredded. First, with the second layer of the hood that clung tightly to his head, he severs it at the neck so he can pull the metal attachment forward, ripping it from the tiny ports stuck into his flesh without much worry to the pain. It’s quite the startle when he expects the cool air from the freedom he’s given himself, but instead, it’s still stifled under far more hair than he remembered ever in his life having; long, black and gray strands pooling wet and greasy with sweat over his shoulder. There’s a moment taken to scratch at the available skin now, but with how satisfying it is just to itch at his scalp from a half decade of encapsulation, he wonders the bliss it might be to scratch elsewhere.

In a fury of tugs and irritated grunts and tears, he finds himself on the floor instead of his bed for better manipulation. Gabriel is nearly too distracted to notice a face peer from a tiny pulled opening in his curtains, but alas, he looks up, curled up on himself, a mouthful of cloth from his leg. Most of the top is off, but three metal attachments lay, from what he can tell, screwed in place to his spine. Out of hands between trying to shimmy out of the pants and cut where his thighs aren’t making it, he tries to leverage with his mouth, but Satya gets the best view of a man who is acting ‘quite a bit strange’.

“.. Do you… need assistance?”

“.. I gotta.. This has to come off. It’s hot.”

It seems straightforward enough, to him. Who was this, again? Even in the haze of his mind unable to decide what time period this was in, there wasn’t even a tiny inkling of who she might be. Maybe a SEP nurse who was new and impressionable? Well, she isn’t scolding him for freeing himself from his plastic prison, so that’s a good sign.

When she takes to not to responding, he sinks back into removing, shredding his ‘pants’, getting stuck up on the boots. “Wait, wait, those are mechanical, you can’t just.. Just, stop.” Oh, now you’re going to help, when he looks even more desperate. Where are they getting these interns nowadays- she leans down beside him, grabbing at the leg with- whoa, that is an advanced looking tech arm she has. She spots how his attention diverts to confusion to her prosthetic- he still thinks it’s just a glove honestly- and its long enough for her to beckon a leg to lift and give it a good looking over. Her comprehension of the simple mechanics of it is nigh instantaneous, and while it may take longer to figure out their removal if they required remaining intact, Satya thinks they’re quite done with this whole get up. A few choice hardlight rams into the hidden internal jointing, and the boot cracks and unassembles. A few good shakes of his leg and the metal finds itself elsewhere, and his leg finds itself bare and free. They work in sequence from there to the other leg, and lastly, each arm.

When he’s 90% free, free beyond the three hardwired placers in his spine, Gabriel finally feels good enough for the moment to sit and sweat on the floor. He feels the woman pry a bit at the remaining fabric, stuck there, and he mumbles in response, “S’stuck to my back really.. badly. Really weirdly. Forgot to cut it there.”

Tug tug. “Do you know what they do.” Some concern that their removal would be detrimental to his health.

“Aren’t you suppose to know that? Er, wait, no.. Would you…?” His head tilts all the way over, vacantly staring at the floor before them.

“I wouldn’t know, no.” He appreciates her honest, non-belittling response to his apparent confusion.

“.. I can take them out.” It’s just a thought, in his head, that yes, he /can/ take them out. “.. Can you just.. grab the fabric there.”

“.. Close to them or..?”

“It’ll be easier if you’re closer. I’m going to pull.”

“.. Are you going to pull them out?” She sounds legitimately apprehensive about his idea, but trusting enough he can feel her prosthetic grip of the stuck-on material.

“It’ll work. Probably.”

“It’s going to be unsightly.” What an elaborate way to say ‘it’s gonna be gross’

“If you don’t want to I can probably figure it out-“

“It is fine, I have a sturdy grip here. Go ahead.” She has settled up more on her heels, prepared to angle away from him, with a mass of the leftover mutilated suit in her hands.

It’s a weird sort of, far away thought, that he’s aware of his ability to manipulate his body and that whatever these implants used to do, they aren’t doing it anymore. When he leans up, at first, he isn’t figuring out what his subconscious is meaning, but when he closes his eyes and lets his body just… do, whatever it wants, Gabriel can feel how unpleasant and foreign the spikes are inside his flesh, and the satisfying pull of them sliding from under his skin. Satya, however, is the only one who sees the way his already dark skin grows black at the edges of the metal implants, and the way fall out with a hiss and huff of nanite smoke.

When he’s completely free, he flattens to the floor and grumbles quietly into the tiles by his forgotten bedframe, still too hot and uncomfortable. He hears the woman shuffle away and leave, apparently satisfied with his placated response to freedom, but possibly because now, with no suit, he stinks the wretched leftover of sweat and wet, hot plastic. To her credit, however, he hears the tiny chirrup of the air conditioner robot he’d been fondling earlier, and it floats above him again, coating him with a comfortable layer of frost. It doesn’t stop him from being a greasy mess, however, and Gabriel rolls onto his back, vacantly staring at the bare roof from the floor- well, mostly bare. There’s a poster taped up there, in the dark he can barely read it. It’s a kitten. It says ‘hang on there baby’. I know this roof.

I know where the shower is in the Gibraltar watchpoint medical bay. Again, with those weirdly intrusive thoughts; he raises on his weak arms, shaking again, his head whapping against obtrusively long hair. There’s a reason he’d never let it grow long in his youth. Maybe it’s how greasy and awful it feels right now that makes it the most annoying thing at the moment.

When he crawls out from his curtained off area, he does, he does remember this place well. The stranger is gone. In fact, no one is here. But he doesn’t need the good doctor to tell him where he’s going; with a quiet groan, he raises to shaky legs and, completely naked, wobbles to the singular bathroom with medical shower. At first, he thinks it might be better off if he showers in the dark, but something compels a hand to reach out and flick on a light.

There’s no one to recognize in the reflection when he stares back at ‘himself’. Blinking one eye at a time, still red and minutely glowing irises travel from feet, up to where he can see in the mirror at his hips, skips over his chest due to some instinct, and lands on his face. It burns to make eye contact with himself. His face is still in disrepair, half hidden by black bangs, but Gabriel can see the holes in his face, the two long scars that might be healed enough not to ‘bleed’ but still bisect an eye, and leave a hole to his teeth in his cheek. He tries to resist the urge to stick his tongue through it; instead, he takes a good look at those teeth, dirty and sharp. Mouth open wide, he sticks fingers into ply at his tongue and the grit between his fangs; Gabriel thinks a moment to missing the fat claws he had been equipped with earlier, but shocks when the tips of each digit grow black and sharp themselves at the thought. With a shake of his hand, he wills the shadow to subside and return his normal looking hands, but. It’s something to keep in mind.

Exhausted over nothing, he sits for a while on the toilet seat, listening to the water he’d started up minutes ago. It’s not quite hot enough to steam up the place, but it raises the humidity to a point he feels the dampness sink into his lungs, breaths it in purposefully and unobstructed. Barely, he notes the noises of movement outside, but trusts in not being interrupted as long as he sounds like he’s not causing any trouble in here. There’s no hot water bill to run up.

When he finally steps a foot in, it’s a surprise that the water that rinses across his leg doesn’t pour out dirt and filth- beyond the sweat, he’s not particularly particulate burdened. It’s a heaven when he brings his head under the rush, the foreign drag of warm water sinking into his hairline, soaking him down. When it flows over his back, however, that is when trails of black slink down the drain from his body; unable to turn enough to see, he reaches an arm back to scratch. Holes, from where the placers sat in his spine, unwilling to heal immediately. He registers the pain at the back of his mind, but only when he really fingers the wounds- as he stops and lets the water close his eyes and overtake his senses willingly, when he reopens, the trails are gone and the water is clear again.

\----

“It’s been about an hour and he hasn’t come out.”

A very tired looking Angela sits with Fareeha and Mei, just outside, and waiting. An hour since they’d arrived and half an hour since he’d turned off the water- for a bit, they hear what sounds to be vomiting, but leave it be when it settles down into silence.

“I just don’t want to go in there and have him get violent. Sayta said he was acting really erratic.” Angela addresses the statement Fareeha gives to break the silence, sighing. She’s at sleep's door at this point, at a loss for Jack’s existence, barely having wrangled Jesse(who was /lying to her about all this/…), and leaning towards having been conscious for over 24 hours.

“I think we’re done that for now. If he was going to be violent, wouldn’t he have had attacked her first.” Stepping over towards the close door, Fareeha half expects to be stopped by words or otherwise, but receives none such a response. Angela is tired too, and if they could just get him back in bed, maybe she could relax enough to get some sleep.

Knock knock. “I’m coming in there.” She waits a moment, listening intently for sounds of movement, and finds none. Maybe, the shift of a toilet seat. Well, she’s likely seen much worse. The door isn’t locked- not that it has a lock, but maybe he’d attempted to block it, but Gabriel has done no such thing. The light is still on, and it doesn’t take long to figure the scene before her. He’s on the floor, head in the toilet, haphazardly wrapped in the small towels the bathroom had stocked, wet now from himself and the fantastic damp mess he’d made doing whatever he wanted while he had his shower. He doesn’t respond when she fully opens the door, or approaches, but does flinch when she lays an inspecting hand on a spot of bare flesh on his back. Feels normal, not excessively hot. Tugging back a towel, she forces him to reveal his face, and he stares from beyond the mess of wet hair at her intrusion. “Just ignoring me, hmn?” A lean around to look from beyond him to what he’s left in the toilet, is a mass of unfortunately familiar black goo. Wonder goes to why he’s losing it like this instead of evaporating it per the normal, but from his extremely solid and humanoid looking state, it seems more that the ‘normal’ was being flipped around.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Can you get up?”

“Maybe?”

She watches him try, weak on his legs, shuffling around on the slick of the floor before he settles his feet beneath him, and rises. It’s also now when she remembers how naked he will be, but isn’t surprised by how much he doesn’t seem to register this detail himself. Stifling a giggle, Fareeha stares up at the roof for a moment, sighing. “I think you’d rather be back in bed rather than in the toilet.”

“I feel like I might be done throwing up, but I’m not making any promises.” He’s still speaking rough in his throat, forced and gravely, backlighting the tone with a constant irritation. She can ignore it for now, and looks down at him again when he scratches at his back. Sure, she’s seen him shirtless before, knows all the scars he’s gotten over the years, scrapes and bullet holes. Some she’d even seen him receive, nervously watching from afar with her mother’s concern for his wellbeing. It’s how she spots how starkly the newest ones he has stood out.

When he faces her, four perfect circles in sequence on his chest, like four corners of a square. At first, she thinks they’re like the remnants of plugs, maybe, old plugs of giant needles rammed into his chest and stomach-, but he turns to stretch, and there’s four more on his back. More like poles rammed directly through him, the scars on his back are even more ‘plug’ like, suggesting he’d been stuck in the back, through and through, deliberately. They aren’t even what he’d been scratching- along his spine, the healing over freshest wounds from what Satya had mentioned- his suit, the metal bits. Implanted in his back. Instead of fresh, red tissue, they’re stark, impossibly black.

 Gabriel catches her staring, looks down to the ones he can see on his front, and back to her face. “Before you ask, no, I don’t remember where those came from.” What he means, however, is that he has no interest in thinking about where they came from. It’s obvious enough to Fareeha that is was a Talon affair.

“Alright, I’ll try to get Angela not to ask.”

“I’ll just give her the same answer.”

“Come on out then, ah…” She hesitates to speak his name aloud, knowing before his distaste for being called it.

But he’s feeling remarkably unlike his recent self, and speaks for her, “Reyes.”

“Reyes. I need to clean up the mess you made.”

“It’s water, it’ll evaporate. It’s this damn hair.” Shaking off, he makes his point known. It isn’t sopping wet anymore, having been drying for an hour, but she’s had hair that long before.

“We’ll cut it later.”

They forget to put pants on him before they remove him from the bathroom- Angela doesn’t care, but Mei peeps, scandalized and covering her face with her hands, “Oh, please, pants-“

“Whoops.” Despite the admission of knowing full well his nudity was offensive, he makes no move to stop in, simply setting hands down on his hips. It takes Fareeha shoving a towel into his hand and in front of himself. “Oh come on. I’ve had to wear that stupid fucking plastic suit for like.. years… I think.” Angela’s eyebrows knit when his face stares off in vacant confusion for a moment of thought. Some many years. 5? 7? Nobody knows. “Sue me if I’m not interested in hopping into the nearest set of cotton fatigues.”

“Well then get under a blanket or something.”

“Angela, why are you still awake.” His concerned sounding comment gives him an audible scoff and a look of pure feminine annoyance.

“Because you keep ruining- making it impossible to get any sleep around here! Nothing worth getting at least, all stress and nightmares.”

“.. Y’know.” She knows what he’s about to say, but no amount of shushing and her getting up to shove him stops him from speaking it, “I told you once I would make everything harder for you.”

“Then don’t sound so concerned about me!” He takes to being shoved towards a freshly cleaned off bedspread, and Angela swears she hears him choke back a soft laugh- when the doctor looks back to her cohort, she sees how soft Fareeha’s expression has gotten in the short moment.

\---

It’s a weird feeling- that he actually feels bad for Angela, when he arises again a short while after being put to bed again. He can’t sleep, not this soon, and something in his organs is killing him. Something distantly familiar but not common enough to his senses that it comes right away. At the foot of his bed, someone has left him worn sweatpants and a shirt. As much as he bitched and moaned about putting clothes on earlier, the freshly washed and disturbingly soft(in comparison to pleather) rubbing between his intimate parts leaves him awkwardly overstimulated for a moment, but he’s too internally uncomfortable to let it get to him too far. He walks a few short steps stiff legged and wiggling, shuffling towards the door unguarded, when he hears movement to the side. It’s that woman again! The east Indian one... She looks concerned, bewildered sitting in her bed with a nose barely over her book and staring. Reyes attempts to quell it with a finger pressed over his mouth and a long ‘sshhhhhh’.

“You /aren’t/ supposed to leave, or even be awake.”

“What’s your name, I keep seeing you but you’re a hell of a stranger.”

“Satya Vaswani.”

“… Gabriel Reyes.”

“I know your name. Where are you going.”

“Are you going to narc on me.”

“Yes. Why do you want to leave?”

“I’m.. something. I need to find something to…” He pokes his stomach, confused at his own biology.

“.. You’re hungry..?”

It’s like she lights a lightbulb in his head, spine straightening, a finger tapping against his chin. Yes, that’s right. This is what being hungry actually feels like- sure, he could use more souls at this point, but his newly formed body craves a replacement in the meantime. “I guess. You still gonna stop me?”

“Not physically, no, but I’ve been told to tell the doctor if you-“

He doesn’t mean to be rude in his interruption, but Satya’s is a face of annoyance when he breaks her train of thought-“Look, Angela’s had a rough enough night, you don’t have to tell her just yet. Hell, if you want to narc on me, message Fareeha instead.”

“The easier solution is to not leave.”

“Ok I might /sound/ concerned, but trust me, it’s not enough to stop me from going to fill this hole. I’m tired of suffering.” She watches in stunned silence as a hand raises and arms itself with black tipped claws; like a dog, he scratches at the collar around his neck. It jangles softly under the pressure, spinning around his neck. Her handiwork, working diligently. With her seemingly pressed back into silence, Reyes continues his track off into the hallway, humming a soft note as he wanders.

\---

Aaaaand Hana is in big trouble now, Lena seeing directly through her rouse. It’s walking on eggshells back at base- but no one is mad at her as they are mad at the now escaped Jack and the, thankfully enough for her, still here Jesse Mccree.

Hanzo had found the cowboy holed up in a high up rafter, but dragged him down to a common area- Hana arrives before Angela and Fareeha do, and she get a surprise to seeing Mccree with his face bruised to all hell. He turns up a nose at her when she approaches to inspect, but feels the pull of something grabbing an arm- expecting it to be Lena, her eyebrows knit to find the less than familiar archer grabbing her wrist and pulling her back aside; he mumbles something at her in Japanese, she catches the quiet ‘please don’t’. She has no reason to resist, but finds it interesting that Mccree is being shy about his physical duress.

When Angela arrives, the ensuing argument is a cluster-fuck she has trouble following- in a moments inspection, the doctor shifts blame to the cowboy.

“Don’t even try to lie to my face. I didn’t believe it before, and now, seeing you.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Angela.”

“Don’t, don’t you ‘Angela’ me. You know, even if, someone, Morrison was the one that started the fight, you aren’t a child, and could have come forward at any time.”

“Forward with what.” His eyes are jammed off to the side, vacant.

“Letting yourself go like this! Not once did you not put up some, some fake good story.”

He doesn’t have any responses for her, but the tirade continues. Or, it would, but Hana perks up, quite ready to receive her verbal thrashing and be done, “Jack said he would take the flack for this, and I don’t know what’s wrong with that.”

“What’s wrong with that, is that he isn’t here to take /anything/.”

“So, you’re going to punish Mccree just ‘cause he actually stayed?”

When she puts in that way, Angela’s nose scrunches into her face; her eyes close and she sighs a long defeated tone. “You know what. I’m too tired for this right now, we will all have a nice long talk in the morning. Mccree, Ms. Song, you will both report to your dorms until further notice. If I don’t see you both here at 8:00 tomorrow, I’m going to hunt you down and you won’t like it.” Hana knows that’s 100% directed at Jesse, but she points a finger at Hanzo as well.

“Yes ma’am.” Mccree relishes in the freedom, but plans to head directly to his dorm- Hanzo trails along to make sure of his commitment, and catches Fareeha’s addition of ‘make it 10, we’re sleeping in tomorrow’

Hana denies Lucio’s asking if she wants company, opting instead for a late-night gaming session. Maybe a nice, long, comforting stream with her lovely, ego boosting fans. She’s finally collected enough parts to have a set up in her room that’s decent enough to actually get things done, enough that she can play old school Starcraft and soothe her wants. After playing for hours, she finally rises for a break and a walk, maybe something to nibble on.. Were they under room-bound house arrest? She doesn’t remember the doctor mentioning specifically, just that they were to meet up and settle everything in the morning. Well.. she couldn’t get in more trouble. Probably.

She’s staring at her phone when she turns around the corner, phone in her face, spoon in her mouth, when she runs face-first into 6’ something of man she swears wasn’t there two seconds ago, and when she startles to turn her face up and yell at whoever it was to watch where they were going, she is face to face with a dark haired and skinned stranger. Before she can scream her displeasure, a hand clamps over her mouth, clattering her spoon and phone to the floor, and another over a wrist that attempts to hit him. Oh god, she’s unarmed, she’s in her PJ tank top and shorts, no one is around or can hear her- and just as her heart jams itself out of her chest, she /recognizes him/, and sighs so dramatically she swears she almost faints.

Wrenching Reyes’ hand from her mouth, she spits at him, “For fuck's sake! I thought you were some kind of burglar!”

“I trusted you’d recognize me.”

“HOW. You look!... Like, whoa, man, I know Winston said he had you all fixed up, but… Look at you!” She smooths a hand through her own hair first, ramming her anxiety attack back where it belongs- and then reaches hands up to his face, gently cupping under his jaw and wriggling fingers into his hairline. “Like the beautiful emo child I knew you were under there.”

“We’re cutting my hair off tomorrow.”

“.. Aww, why.” His eyes dart to the side, thinking about it. Now that it was clean and dry, yeah. Why? “I have doubts that you’re supposed to be walking around.”

Remembering his task, he snaps back to staring at her, wide-eyed and intimidating. Then again, maybe he’s less looking good than previously thought- there’s still a huge hole in the side of his face, he’s still covered in scars. His eyes are still /glowing/. “Hana.” And he’s still talking like he’s out to murder.

“… Reaper.”

“Reyes.”

“…Reyes.” She nods her head, affirming the name change, but still very much anxious about the close proximity between them.

“I need you to do something for me.”

“… You are not comforting me at all man.”

“I need you to go into town and get me… cheeseburgers.”

“.. Oh thank god, that’s, that’s a super easy thing I can do- WAIT SHIT.” It’s his turn to jump now, when she twitches and slams a fist into her thigh at the thought. “I got in SHIT for your stupid boytoy and now I’m under house arrest, I can’t leave the facility. Also, it’s like, 3 in the morning.” He looks absolutely crushed about her lack of ability to get him the substance he desires, eyes listing off the side along with his head. It’s so fascinating to watch his expression unhindered, but he is particularly emotionally weak at the moment. “Wait wait, no puppydog eyes yet! I DO have something else that should be just as good as shitty cheeseburgers.” His attention is re-wrangled, willing to listen to her options. “I have, at least 250 microwave burritos in the freezer.”

“… Why did Reinhardt buy so many burritos.”

“Because I told him it was a sound investment and he totally went for it. Like, honestly, a freezer full of burritos is totally a good idea, when one day there should be like, 20 of us here, and sometimes you just don’t want to cook, right?”

“I shouldn’t spite him for this right now. I want those burritos.” She’s trying so hard not to giggle at the fact he still manages to sound so forcibly ‘angry’ while requesting something so juvenile.

“Okay, let’s get back into the kitchen- but I gotta hurry up, I was in the middle of a stream.”

“You’re under house arrest, but you’re streaming.”

“It’s not like anyone knows I’m here. Athena guards my IP and stuff. I’m a smart girl.”

“Oh, I know it.”

Turning on heel, he follows her with unabashed desire to eat /whatever/ she puts in front of him. “How many do you want.”

“… All of them.”

She stops, and he’s slow on the uptake, so they bump together and she turns around and gives him a look. “You’re not eating 250 burritos.”

“You lack faith in me.”

“It’s not about faith, it’s about having a basic understanding of physics.”

“I have made my last few years of life not giving a shit about what physics decides.”

Hana knows he’s not wrong, knowing full well of his habit of turning into a literal fart cloud and fogging away into the night- but she looks him over. “You’re looking super, super solid dude. I think you need to take more physics into consideration.- Actually, I have a plan. Do you want to be a cool on stream guy.”

After a moment of silence, he touches his face. No mask, and so scarred and old from his past self, he’s nigh unrecognizable to what he was. “What do you want?”

“People go crazy for live streamer stunts, and I actually want to see you eat more burritos than what should be humanly possible.”

\---

For every $100 dollars donated, the illustrious Hana Song’s strange, large friend, would eat a microwave burrito. It’s a slow start at first, and to simmer him down, she lets him start off with three, but it doesn’t help much. After a while, a donation train starts; and it’s not only for 100-dollar lump sums, but every time they hit a milestone, so when the train picks up steam he’s eating a burrito about every five minutes. The first ten were funny, the next ten were alarming. She never thought it would get to 20- and neither did anyone else on the internet. The chat is absolutely teeming with cries of ‘fake’ and ‘vac’, but Reyes doesn’t seem interested in throwing in the towel. The game playing has nearly stopped at this point; the novelty of this strange man eating an impossible number of burritos is what is really holding the streams attention.

43 burritos, is when, with a hiccup, he pushes the camera away just in time to burp out an only mildly unexpected cloud of expired nanites. “Oohh shit, uh. Well, he threw up, so I guess that’s over!” Which is only sort of a lie. She’s glad he had the forethought to turn away the camera before he lost his gas. It didn’t sound like vomit, though, so there’s a trail of confusion- abruptly, she stops the stream with a curt apology. He’s exhaling a storm by the time she has everything all settled down, hiccupping, but laying down low in her bed. “I regret nothing.”

“Well, you might not regret anything, but I’m going to. God, you can’t help but stink.”

“What does it smell like.”

“Death, and burritos. Hey, does this mean you aren’t eating ~souls~ anymore?”

Hiccup. “I don’t know yet. I feel full, though.” Oh, and tired, again.

“Oh, wow, finally.” Hana’s looking at her phone again, patting her poor overfull friend. “Fareeha is looking for you.”

“.. Darnit. I didn’t think the woman in the medbay would do it.”

“Satya? Yeah, but it sounds like she took her time, you’ve been with me for hours.”

“I asked her not to tell Angela, she needed a night to sleep.”

“She really did. She’s gonna give me a good yell tomorrow. I told Fareeha to come here to come get you.”

“Good luck getting me to stand.”

“Knowing her, she’ll just pick you up, dude.”

“ …Haa, yeah, she will. When you aren’t under house arrest or, if you can ask Reinhardt, can you do me a favour? I need cigarettes.”

“… What? You smoke. Really, honestly, in this day and age.”

“It’s not for me. Cigarillos would be nicer but I’ll take what whatever you or him think you can pick me up.”

“You gonna explain why?”

“Nah.”

“Well, whatever, you just made some charity a shit ton of money tonight. Do you got a preference?”

“.. A what? Charity?”

“Yeah! I told you I was asking for money to make you eat all those burritos.”

“.. I thought you’d just keep it.”

“Nah, I don’t keep any of my stream money.”

He thinks about it a bit too long and hard. “I don’t know. You don’t have a regular or something.”

“Not really, I spread it around a lot. I think I have a good one, I’ll tell you about it later.”

It feels staged when in the moment, they hear a knock at the door, and Fareeha on the other side, “Alright, get up you little jail breaker. I’m going to chain you to a fence post.” With a hand on a hip, the soldier stares him down from the open doorframe, lips pursed.

With a heave, he rises himself- Hana teases, “I thought you were gonna keep putting up a fuss!”

“It’s too late for that. Or early, depending. You have four hours to get ready before Dr.Zeigler gives you the runaround, by the way.”

“… Yeah I didn’t think too hard about that.”

“Would you have slept anyways, if Reyes hadn’t shown up?”

“Probably not! See you in a couple hours too, Ms. Amari.” Hana whips out the formality in the moment, giving her a tiny salute.

Fareeha can only roll her eyes, breaking into a tiny smirk, before wrapping a hand around her captive’s wrist and dragging him out like a misbehaving dog. When they’re a good distance away, she turns back at him, releasing her grip and watching him walk along with her. Hell, she’s a good two inches taller than him- maybe, is he slouching? She stands so straightly, arms crossed. She has prosthetic legs, there’s no way in her dirty sweats she would still be wearing thick, metal boots. How did he just notice this now? “If I take you back to your own room, not the medbay, would you stay.”

“… No. Take me to an empty room.” He didn’t mean to sound commanding, he’s just giving her the best chance to keep him in one place.

“Alright, we have many of those.”

“Have you slept yet.”

“A little, but Satya came and told me that you told her to wake me up.”

“.. I asked her not to wake up Angela.”

“That’s fair, I’m not complaining about that. Are you feeling well, Gabriel?” She watches his face when she breaks the line and speaks to him in his first name, and while he blinks and wrinkles his nose a moment, there’s no aggression about it.

“Depends.” While they walk, he stretches out fingers, legs. “My body feels… well, feels.”

“You’re… you’re acting a lot different than you have been since becoming captive in this base. Have you noticed.”

Has he been acting differently? How long has he been at this base? Also, where was he before that. “I’m very confused, about everything, if that’s what you mean.”

“It can be what I mean. You remembered Hana, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“Gibraltar.”

“Do you know what year it is?”

“…mnn…. 2056?”

How extremely off. “Not… quite.”

“2067.”

“Closer.”

“I’m just saying numbers at this point.”

“Maybe a dumb question, but you know exactly who I am, yes?”

“Fareeha Amari.”

“And you remember my mother.”

“Of course I do.” He’s not sure why, but the mention of her name sinks a hole in his chest.

“Who else do you remember on this base?” They’ve been walking for a while now, he thinks she’s taking them on an extended walk just to keep him talking.

“I’m going to assume you mean people from before the fall. Reinhardt, Jesse, Angela, Genji.”

“Did Hana tell you about Jack?”

Jack, is he here? It stops him in his tracks to think about; his fingers flex and she gets a beautiful surprise of the tips turning black and sharp in the aggression. “Morrison is dead, along with your mother” It’s a jarring snap from an otherwise calm and collect conversation to the grumbling spat she receives now, his voice jammed right into the back of his throat and hissing. For a moment, before the collar clicks in and gently simmers his form back together, his body misforms and wafts about him, but he settles back on heel under the coaxing.

A smart woman, she takes the hint. “Alright. What about Jesse?”

“What about him?” It’s like whiplash when she changes the subject and he perks up again, expression like Gabriel.

“Are you mad at him.”

“I don’t think so? He might be mad at me.”

“He is.”

“I can fix it. I already have Hana helping me fix it.”

“I’ll leave you too that then. But, and this is an order, if you have any trouble, you are to come straight to me for it.”

“Oh, I’m taking orders from you.”

“In your absence, you’ve taken a couple ranks down, so yes.”

“Alright, I’ll fight you for it later.”

They must’ve been walking in circles, because she finds the room she wants to put him in a minute after silence reigns. Dark, dusty, but ultimately, very comforting. And lockable, apparently, when she shuts him off to bed, he hears the telltale click of the outdoor lock securing him, and the hum of the AI nearby while he settles down.

The wool blankets aren’t as comfortable as his pants are, but nothing is more comfortable than being entirely nude and sprawled in the open air. It’s blissful, really. How empty his mind apparently was? Any moments of remembrance he’d called before in front of his old and new friends leave him within moments of recalling them; Gabriel wonders quite a bit if there’s something else wrong with him Talon(?) had implanted that made his mind so much like swiss cheese, or whether his brain was just getting used to being… whole, again. It isn’t as if all was lost, he could recall what someone else might bring up, but in the flatness of the shower before, and now, in his room.. God, what had he even thought about in the shower. When did he get out of the shower?

Alright, this is a useless train to spiral off into. Well, he isn’t sleeping, so what else can he do, locked in this room with nothing of his own. Flexing hands inches above his face, he plays with the shadows they cast on his face- the lights are off, but the small blink of red from the fire alarm on the roof provides his adapted vision enough. He tries the same trick he does with his fingers instead with his toes, flexing out his legs and providing himself with a jagged black edge to each toe. While they spread, he forms them long- flexible, able to grip. Dragging those clawed toes over the blanket, it catches on the tips, and with ease he pulls his blanket out from its' tucked in position, unmaking it with a solid motion. The feeling of material between each digit is bewilderingly stimulating, and it occurs to him if he feels too nice on his feet, it will probably feel just as nice in his hands, or elsewhere.

With nothing else to go for, he lets whatever his brain wander to when he was putting his pants on earlier return, and it’s the feeling of… feeling. Feeling anything, other than dull pressure, other than a second layer of skin. He’d been itching at his skull before, returning his digits to ‘normal’ flatness so he doesn’t just rip holes in himself, and now his hands wander elsewhere. Like a dog, he rubs his back against the wool, feeling those freshly healed wounds complain but remaining closed despite the effort to itch off the scabbing. Rolling to his front, he gives his chest the same comforting treatment of scratchy wool, but gets caught up on something that actually manages not to appreciate such rough rubbing- something that he’d desperately forgotten about in his half-decade of worldly removal. Propping up on his arms, still on his front, Gabriel looks down to between his legs, and through the stimulating the rest of his body, his most precious and waiting for thing, wet at the tip already.

He’d learned to ignore it for so long, he’s impressed his penis has the effort to be aroused by something as simple as this- but it makes sense that with the rest of his touch desperate self, he’d arouse more primal in a heartbeat. With an awkward shift his, comparably to wool blankets, much softer digits give him more what it was asking for, but long since missed pressure at the tip makes his legs shake instantaneously, and his body in turn. He’ll get off in less than a minute at this rate- and you know what, why the hell not? No one is home, no one should be bothering him for hours, he had time to get at it more than once, if he so desired.

 After those few experimental tugs, Gabriel props himself up on his face, basically inhaling pillow, before death gripping at the base of his shaft with one hand, and going to town with the other. There’s no set motion to it, nothing soft of fluid, just a desperate pace that serves to overstimulate and blissfully frustrate him; his hips bend and legs waver in a subconscious attempt to escape his own touch, but he’s having none of his own hesitation. He lacks patience for such- between the sting of each pull over the head of his cock, he feels the rough of the pillow choking him out, he feels the terrible blanket rubbing his knees raw with each slip and attempted removal of himself from his own hands. Biting into the pillow, his eyes water under the strain, his voice cracks from behind the strained clamp of his jaw, and none can hear the softest of whines when he comes, hard and demanding. Neglecting to put anything down beforehand, he ruins his only blanket, a big wet spot he accidentally lowers himself into, sprawling again, chest heaving.

Is there a bathroom attached to this block? Since the door is locked, he assumes it at least will have a toilet and sink somewhere, or hopes it does. With his still clawed toes, he lifts up again and thrashes to remove the wet spot from directly below him, upending the blanket entirely to the floor and replacing the touch-sense of wool with the plain cotton sheets. Whatever, it was too hot anyways.

He’s thankful for his stamina when after a few minutes of heaving and regaining composure, his body is ready to go again- and with more patience, he’s willing to play a little bit more. Rolling onto his back, Gabriel lifts a leg up and curves in on himself, reaching around with a hand to press at his asshole- it’s been years, and he doesn’t have any lube, but even just teasing the edge brings some delight to his spine. Slowly, he wraps fingers around his already half hard cock and sets a far softer and drawling pace, leg still shaking from the previous climax. Damnit, maybe he should have let Fareeha put him back in his own room- wait, no, it wasn’t ‘his’ room, not like he was remembering there for a moment, there’s no stash of lube anywhere. Pulling up a hand, he gets a thick trail of spit for his fingers instead, granting at least a little purchase to himself- enough he can ignore the pain of pushing what might be slightly too far but provides the stimulation he’s looking for. His own hand is nothing like actually being on the receiving end of a good fuck, but in desperation, it nearly feels the part; the way he’s forced to bend his torso in on itself to reach, the way his body feels so out of tune with itself he can pretend it’s someone else for a moment.

It’s an, unfortunately, short lived moment again, no matter how he tries to pace now, that Gabriel feels the tug of climax overtake his core; his hand slips when his held-up leg falters and sprawls him again. Still without a towel, there’s less cum from the first time where he’d soaked through the blanket, but enough that his stomach shows the obvious trail to his chest. It sinks into the trail of hair there, the foreign line of black and speckled gray; he relishes in darkened vision of his cum, free and glittering on his midsection. With a press and a choke, he milks out the last few drops from himself, letting it drip uselessly down his length, messy, uncontrolled.

It’s not surprising when simply looking over himself, he wrenches up again, slicking up fingers again with his own wet cum, and jamming fingers back up inside his ass. There’s no focus on his cock this time, just the in and out of his fingers, pressing up against the best part of his insides. He doesn’t want to come again so fast, but even now, desperate and wanting, it’s not easy. Beyond his conscious thoughts, his mouth moves, it’s mouthing out words, a word, but there’s no voice behind it, Gabriel can’t hear himself. Unable to convince his brain to tell him what he’s mumbling, he focuses instead to put some sound behind his words- cracking, spitting from the wheezing breath he takes with each insertion he gives himself, “Ja-…ja…ck…jack…..” A single word, a name, he puts more into his throat, turning his memories mantra into a quiet whining, “Jack….please…..”, the words hit his brain, but he’s too busy ramming himself, pretending it’s someone else; Gabriel can visualize it well now, in front of him, hands around his neck- blue eyes staring into his weary face. He’s wracked with pleasure again at the thought alone, straining his body but ultimately dry in response, his throat chokes and he nearly sobs to himself- when his mind settles past his third and lengthy climax, it comes cold to him what had occurred to make him get off so hard.

Reaper can nearly hear the snap in him when it occurs, when he REMEMBERS, why Jack wasn’t there, what he’d so very recently done to him, and he /shrieks/, he’s on his feet and /frothing/ in instantaneous rage, and this is why there’s a locked door- the wraith slams him misforming form into the door, “JACK, YOU ASSHOLE, YOU PIECE OF SHIT, I’M GOING TO FIND YOU, AND I’M GOING TO GUT YOU, KILL YOU, CUT OFF YOUR AAaaaarrrrr---aaaa-“ There’s a sizable clawed hole in the handle and the keypad before the collar remembers to do its job, but it works much… ‘softer’, than he remembers it has in the past. It overtakes his senses with a dull feeling, much akin, he might remember, to being tranquilized naturally. From the neck down, like a drug, and he can hear a soft tone along with the feeling; solidifying, he slumps down to the floor, curls up, feels so very, very weary now. It’s cold near the door on the floor- but he’d ruined his only blanket anyways. Gabriel might regret it in the morning, but he won’t die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry chrimmus


	15. ch15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a trip down remembery lane

Hana is too tired to deal with the situation at hand, and while Angela wants to be annoyed with her at not sleeping the night before, the doctor had gotten her own night in and is in a much, much better mood. Mccree looks well slept as well, and it’s the two women and him, in her office, alone. Ready to have a. Conversation.

They sit in silence for too many minutes, Hana drifting off while Jesse and Angela lock in a silent staring battle from beyond the brim of his hat. The youngest startles when Angela finally speaks, sighing, “Alright. Are we all done lying to each other yet?”

Raising a hand, Hana sits up straight to answer, “As a show of good faith, I offer to stop lying first.”

“Ok...” It’s obvious Angela wasn’t implying Hana was the main culprit here, but lets the girl continue. “Tell me what happened yesterday.”

She takes in a big breath, leveling her hands on her lap before responding. “Jack texted me, Lena was about, mn, I wanna say 7 kilometers to the other side of the city? I had some other cops there with me, but I didn’t feel like it was worth it at the time. He’d been avoiding us all night so like, I was going to try to play his game his way, instead of asking for help and risking him leaving before we could even try to talk it out.”

“He could have hurt you by yourself.” The statement has Hana shrugging, and Mccree scoffing with disbelief.

“There’s a lotta ‘coulds’ we all face every day, ma’am. Having spoken with Jack before, I didn’t think it was that big of a risk.”

“Continue.”

“He was up in a building. We had a little, one sided fist fight where I tried to fight him and I was just sort of inconveniencing. Apparently I need more practice and exercise.. He told me he did to Reyes’ what he did to keep him out of the way enough that he could leave base. Well, alright actually I’m just assuming that. He just said that he did it, that he shot him.”

“Strange.” With her chin in her palms, half-lidded eyes level over towards Jesse and his various facial injuries.

“Why? Isn’t that what we thought.” Mccree’s expression falters, and he pulls the brim of his hat over his eyes to dissuade Hana’s prying eye contact.

“If he sayin’ it then what’re we arguin’ for...” The cowboy grumbles, less than halfheartedly defending himself.

“Hana, why did you let him leave?” She wants to argue with Jesse, sure, but let’s finish up what we started first.

 “He said…” sighs, she rolls her eyes and thinks, “He was going to go fight Talon. And that Overwatch wouldn’t be doing an ‘efficient enough job of it’.” With waving hands, she mocks his voice, “And I thought like… If he wants to go so badly, then he’d just be fighting us the whole way! Instead of maybe us working together again one day.”

“He was really focused on Talon.” Groaning, Angela recalls the day's past conversation. Should’ve locked him up then and there.

“Something the nights before that Reaper said or did sounded like it really fucked him up. Like Reaper gave out some big secret that changed his mind. It sucks, ‘cause Morrison really sounded like he was turning over a leaf to actually liking what we were doing here, but it changed it an instant it seemed like. You could… Y’know, maybe ask Reaper about it.”

“Reyes is still recovering from his ordeal last night.” Hana’s head tilts at the doctor’s implication she was unaware that the ghost was walking around already.

“… Did Fareeha tell you about last night?” She questions timidly, peering timidly at Angela while she straightens.

“… No?” Cocking her head, Angela successfully chokes back her annoyance.

“He was walking around. He found me last night on a snack run and forced me to feed him burritos.” Hana speaks it so matter-of-factly. Like it would be a commonplace occurrence.

Angela is without words to this revelation; Mccree sits up more straight in his chair, looking over at her incredulously with a now removed hat. “’’Scuse me..?”

“… Yeah like. He ate almost fifty burritos. He wanted cheeseburgers but I was pretty sure you’d be more mad at me if I’d left base again. Especially for burgers.”

“That is correct, I would’ve been annoyed by this. Wait- you’re saying he ate?... Food?” For months, even with the ability to take off his mask, Reyes had shown literally zero interest in consuming anything but ‘souls’. Hearing he was for eating normal food again lightens a load in her heart- but her expression stays stern.

“Yup. Shit tons of it. And then he burped all the gas he would normally just… sweat out, I guess.” She nods, jaded by the weird shit that follows her friend constantly.

“….” He hopes a bit he’ll be out of the hot water longer, but after that eventful conversation on Reyes’ eating habits, the doctor’s gaze snaps to Jesse- and he’d removed his hat earlier at ’46 microwave burritos’, so there’s no longer an option to hide from her eyes. She hums at him, like a mother might, prodding for him to speak.

“What.”

“Alright, your turn. Start talking.”

“Where d’you want me to start.”

“Tell me about last night with you and Jack. How did the fight start?”

His nose wrinkles, his hands, palms grasping his face, and he groans, loudly, thinking. “Fuckin’, fine, whatever. I went to Jack’s room to find him so we could, I dunno, have a ‘chat’. But Reyes was there, and he was acting like he’d hurt him. And I was drunk, and stupid, so I just sorta let him. Get to me.” As the tirade goes on, the cowboys voice gets weaker and quieter, unwilling to make eye contact with either of them, hiding and muffled behind his hands.

“Where’s your gun.” Angela idles her chin into her hands again, and while her question sounds accusing, her tone is soft. A simple question.

“Hanzo already took it. Gave it to Fareeha, I’m thinkin’.”

“So, you shot Reyes and Jack.”

“No, hell no I ain’t shootin’ Jack. After I shot Reyes and he turned into a pile a’ sentient chocolate pudding me and Jack had a bit of the floor wrestle, and then he tried to tell me I should blame it on him. And I told him ‘like hell that’s gonna work’. But he was fuckin’ losing his mind just as much as I was.”

“Sounds right… Mnn. Well, I guess. All we’ve lost is Morrison and, well, we weren’t aiming to have him in the first place.” She mumbles a bit to herself, nearly letting another silence take them, before breaking into a different thought. “Jesse, give me your arm.” She stands abruptly, slipping up beside him and gesturing with her own arm.

“What? Excuse me?” Shrinking back into his chair, Mccree flinches at her sudden approach, eyeing her from between his fingers.

“Your prosthetic. You aren’t avoiding your medical anymore.”

“… Fair.” It’s hardly relieving when she clarifies her intent.

“Am I free to go, officer?” Hana words it like a joke, but she is still aware of the seriousness of the situation.

“Yes Hana, but you’re going to be room confined. I’ll let Winston know and we’ll figure exactly what we’re going to do with you.” At the beginning, Hana was worried this might relieve her of her position at Overwatch, but the doctor doesn’t sound harsh with her at all. Maybe Winston will be worse to deal with later. Lena had already given her the stink about it.

“Aawwr, darn alright.” Honestly, it’s a much better punishment than anything she would receive anywhere else. She stands up and saunters off, leaving the doctor and the irate cowboy to their own devices. There’s a moment of wonder if it meant no one was allowed to visit her, either.

\-------

Fareeha will come in the morning. The idle thought rises from him his sleep, in front of the damaged door and still sweaty but with the dried remnants of last night on his stomach. Begrudgingly, he rises and flicks on the light, squinting his way to the tiny bathroom in the new light. Just a toilet and a sink, no shower- but there’s towels, and he’s done this sort of thing before. Probably. He hears the door behind  him open loudly amidst his halfhearted hygiene, and in a moment, the bathroom doorway is crowded with whom he expects. She idles, leans with arms crossed.

“You’re supposed to knock.” He hisses at her, still facing the mirror but glancing at her through its reflection.

“You really fucked up the door lock.” She is with a tone far more of amusement than annoyance to his destructive tendencies.

“Did I make it harder to open…?” He’s still naked, tilting his torso around to gawk at her with legs crossed.

“You did. And now it won’t shut again.”

“Whoops.”

“Any reason why you…?”

Staring at the roof, he scratches at the collar in thought. “I remembered about Jack last night and I might’ve gotten a little… mad.”

“Athena said she heard you say you’d plan to kill him.”

“Well, ‘planning’ is probably an overstatement, it just might happen.”

“Try not to.”

“I try to do many things.” That don’t always work out, he means to add, but silences himself.

“Well, could you try to put some pants on?” The nudity is getting a bit much. It’s also hard not to peer and those deep scars that she’d spotted yesterday.

“Why, we going for a walk.”

“I was hoping you would go for a walk with me, yes.”

“Alright, get outta the doorway.” Waving a dismissive hand, he turns around to bark her out of the way.

With a shrug, she does so, and he still squinting, clamors around for his discarded pants. “Are you… Having trouble with the lights in here?” Her tone is genuinely concerned, as it really wasn’t that much bright in here at all. In fact, if they go into the hallway, he might beg to go back with the way he dislikes the light.

He can only glance up at the fluorescents for half a second before his squeezing his eyes shut down at the floor. “Been behind a mask for a while. Or not just that- I see in the dark very well.” Peering up at her with bad posture, Reyes’ looks a bit like he’s drank too much, wobbly and squinting.

“.. We’ll get you some glasses.” He catches her pulling out her phone, messaging a few people while he clothes himself(still so awkwardly between the legs), before ushering them out the door. “Hana says you ate some things last night.”

“Burritos.” Mumbling softly, he doesn’t care where they walk, and after a few short moments of stumbling in the bright hallway lights, he opts to close his eyes and slink close behind Fareeha’s back, pulling his long hair forwards over his eyes and listening to her metal feet-pats; listening for her to stop so he might avoid running into her.

“Are you looking to eat breakfast then?” She speaks loudly so he might hear her from directly behind.

“It’s past lunch.”

Laughing, she shakes her head, “Lunch then?”

“…. No, I’m fine. Actually…”

“Mn?”

“Coffee.”

“Heh, yeah, we can go get coffee.” He sounds so much like he was… before all this. Maybe just a touch more sheepish than he’d been in the past.

Reyes wants to think it’s been weeks since their journey to Rio, but in fact, it’s been a short few days. Still relaxing, the communal food area is full of their masses. A silence takes over when they step in, but Reyes still can’t /see/, and Fareeha waves them off dismissively- or tries too, Reinhardt is up in a second, breaking the gap between them; overeager, he brushes the woman aside and takes to assaulting Reyes with a bone breaking hug. Reinhardt is terribly pleased to feel that he has bones, still so solid /to/ crush. Normally, the ghost wouldn’t care, but now. Now he has a body to crush. With a squeak, he pushes palms against his attacker.

Reyes.. still doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would, and even attempts to open his eyes up to look up to his cheery past-friend, but Reinhardt catches how strained his expression looks doing so, and sets him back down after a few pained noises. “Look at you! You have a face! And hair!.. What’s wrong with your eyes.”

“Yeah yeah, it’s great. It’s bright in here, you don’t notice?” Attempting to look around, he spots one of the others of the room approaching him, but doesn’t catch who it is. In a moment, though, he feels something placed on his face, and opens his eyes to darker lenses- and to Lucio, who seems just pleased as hell to see him.

“I think you’re just too edgy for normal lights anymore, my man. S’all good, we won’t hold wearing sunglasses inside against you. Much.” He winks, only preening Reyes’s hair a moment before slipping back down beside the others.

Appreciating the lenses greatly, he looks around the room. Mostly people he knows at this point, but his attention is jarred by an Omnic at the table with Genji. With silent unseen hand motions and whispers, Fareeha hands the Reyes’ reigns over to Reinhardt, and in taking them, he looks between what has the ghost’s attention so sharply. “Did you forget?-“ Reyes interrupts him before he can elaborate.

“If you ever have to ask, just assume that yes, I’ve forgotten.” His head is tilted all the way over. He recognizes this omnic- sparsely? Maybe he’s thinking of the wrong omnic. “…Tekhartha. You’re dead.”

The response makes Genji sit upright, startling and turning to catch his Master’s response- but already the omnic settles him down with a flat palm. “Wrong Tekhartha. I am the brother to who you know is dead.” Zenyatta doesn’t sound terrible phased at all, per the usual.

“… Whoops. I guess it’d be wrong of me to say you all look alike.” He taps his chin a moment, looking to Reinhardt and then back to the omnic. “But I guess if you are saying you two are ‘brothers’, /somehow/, you probably liked looking similar.”

“It was a nice habit we kept, yes.”

Reyes doesn’t realize how much of an awkward conversation this is, and continues. “Ha, I wasn’t even there for that, Widow was.” It’s a fun little adventure down memory lane. He could’ve easily done the task himself, but it was ‘sneakier’ using the sniper. Genji’s face sinks into his palms- and Reinhardt is about to shove his senile buddy out the door, when Zenyatta raises his own hand, dismissing their second-hand embarrassment. “God, I don’t even know why it mattered so much to Talon. Human omnic tensions were only getting worse, and the death of the monk lead to a new rise of funding towards racial bonding. Sure, in some places the violence got worse, but overall, it all got better. Like a martyr.” Reyes shakes his head, sneering at the audacity of it.

“What did you think of it?” Zenyatta tests his thoughts on omnic relations with an easy tone.

Reyes is completely unaware how much he’s talking or how much he’s the center of attention at the moment. What he does realize- is that his opinion /exists/, and that he’s feeling extremely free to talk about it. “We didn’t fight in a war for fucking years just to start another god damned war. I feel like I did try to tell them it wouldn’t go the way they wanted, but… they…” His head tilts over again, to each side, thinking. He has no more verbal response after this, but his nose crinkles, sniffling.

“That’s fair.” Zenyatta thinks with a hum, and then continues, “Reinhardt, my friend, I know you said you wanted to show your ‘other’ friend who has left us to our guest in the hangar bay- but this one fought in the war as well, didn’t he?”

“I sure did.” Perking up again, Reyes has absolutely no idea anyone was supposed to be in the hangar bay. Wait, vaguely, he remembers that Winston went somewhere else and let Jack do his job on the last mission. He tries to keep his mind here instead of letting the gnawing feeling of anger grow at the thoughts of Jack.

“.. Yes, you did.” Behind glasses, Reyes looks up to Reinhardt’s eyes, unseen eye contact between them. The ghost watches his friend’s expression muffled, lips pursed in thought. “It couldn’t hurt. And it /would/ be nice to start introducing him to people…”

“Introducing which to people?”

“.. Both of you, honestly.” He laughs at Reyes’ question, and how genuine it sounds. “Would you come with us, Zenyatta?”

“Of course.”

Genji nearly yelps afterward, failing to be discreet. His annoyance gets past no one but Reyes, whom mentally regards the cyborg, distantly, fondly. “May I join?”

“The more the merrier, I suppose?” Zenyatta speaks, allowing his student his concern, but Reinhardt looks to Reyes for confirmation.

“..Hrm? The hell do I care for.”

The answer gives Reinhardt laughter again, slapping a hand across the other man’s back with a thwack. “Well then! We weren’t doing anything else, I guess.”

Reyes stops them at a sudden thought, grasping at Reinhardt’s arm in a jarring motion, “Coffee..!”

“.. Yes?” Reinhardt straightens at the outburst, looking wide-eyed down at him.

“I /was/ doing something. I was getting coffee.”

\------

They’re having a lovely conversation that Reyes doesn’t listen to on the way down to the hangar bay. Well, Reinhardt and Zenyatta are. Genji is busy staring holes into the back of his head- but every time he tilts back from his giant cup of coffee, the cyborg darts his gaze away, pretends he isn’t paying attention to the ghost at all. As much as he’d ‘love’ to let the man, his old underling, have his weird little moment, with a swift turn Reyes tilts on heel, and skips backwards in tangent with their walk. It’s harder to walk backwards, however, and the slow pace puts Genji in his face within two steps. The other two, taken into their conversation and already ahead of them, don’t notice immediately when the two bump together.

“Ffsht- What, why did you turn and trip?” Avoiding the casually spilling mug of coffee, Genji slows his pace.

“You keep staring at me.” Sipsip. God, black coffee is disgusting. Why did he even want it again?

“You’re walking in front of me, what else would I look at.”

“No, I didn’t say /look/, Shimada, I said ‘stare’.” It’s hard to see Reyes squinting at him from behind the shades, but his lip hikes up into a sneer.

Genji, however, is wearing his mask, and remains expressionless. “Just turn around and walk normally- we’re falling behind.” They were falling behind to start, and now Reinhardt and Zenyatta were beating them by about half a hallway.

“We’ll catch up.”

“Do you even know where they’re going.”

“Hangar bay.”

“Which hangar bay.”

“… Ok, how’s about, you’re here and /you/ know the way. And you wouldn’t leave me behind, would you Genji?” He teases, trying to up his pace, but still doesn’t turn back around.

“I am very tempted.”

“What?” Dropping his teasing tone, he tries to pry at the cyborg with concern. “Now I get to decide, if you don’t want me to see our new ‘friend’ downstairs because you think he’ll do something wrong or I’ll do something wrong. Or, I’ve already done something wrong.”

“You shouldn’t have so harshly spoke of Master Mondatta’s death.”

Well at least he’s being very straight forward, unlike some other bastard he’d helped train. “.. Oh, did I?” He isn’t about to say he’s ‘sorry’, but Reyes shrugs, turns back around again, and quietly chugs back the rest of his coffee… Before bolting off the few extra feet it is to Reinhardt and Zenyatta’s sides again. And then, after startling them, he starts off again, excited to be. Running? Just running for some reason, in a direction. Reinhardt yelps at him to stop, but he doesn’t compute what he’s saying in his brain.

It’s like the tiny, forgotten man in his mind realizes the freedom behind this moment. Maybe not pure freedom- but he’s running down a hallway; while he can hear Reinhardt from behind trying to catch him, it’s up to the old man to physically stop him. The collar isn’t going off- because this isn’t violent at all. It’s like a dog, a fighting dog who’d known nothing but rage and biting for months- years, YEARS, gets to touch grass on his feet. There’s a spare thought to his lack of shoes and the literalness of that, the feeling of tile floor that turns into concrete when he transitions from hallway to the high ceiling of the hangar. So, he DID remember how to get here. It’s the second he takes to stare up at the roof that, impressively enough to him, Reinhardt catches up, and violently swings him up under his arm. Throttled like a naughty cat, Reyes responds with hissing and digging into his arm prison with his fingers, and when annoyed enough by his larger friend’s exhausted laughter, they’re both surprised by his fingers growing blacker claws sinking into skin. Not enough to penetrate, but enough to set the man back down.

They regard his black tipped fingers with confusion for only a moment before Reyes’ attention is grabbed to a warbling motor to their side, cramped into a corner of wall and discarded, massive engine pieces. It’s still folded into its sleep mode, head sunk into neck in apprehension to their sudden appearance. Slowly, he turns his head away from a now concerned Reinhardt to the rumbling engine behind, and.. doesn’t, quite know how to react to this sight. With his brains inability to register the time period, a stark fear makes him shudder from deep within, but in reaction, Reaper straightens them and postures.

No one is happy with this response, and while Bastion is frightened just by his hiss and rumble, Reinhardt yelps when Reyes’ teeth grow sharp and black, jaw unhinging and growling- and he has a set more red eyes than normal. Athena is at the ready in a heartbeat, but it’s a solid clunk of glowing orb into the side of his head that deescalates the situation. Without a thought’s notice to his outburst, Reyes stands there, becoming ‘normal’ looking as ever, and muses the E-54 with an unwanted air of calm in his brain.

“Oh, oh I’m so sorry-“ The larger man slips between the now stuck stationary Reyes and towards Bastion with a calming open palm, “It’s fine, he’s fine, he’s all bark and no bite, I promise!”

With the reassurance of Zenyatta’s approach, the larger omnic rises from his squished in position, beeping up a storm. Reinhardt can tell he’s being scolded, but then Zenyatta just laughs, giving Bastion a knowing pat on the chest- “Be calm, my friend. This is another from the crisis.” Tilting a head around Reinhardt, the larger omnic inspects his ‘attacker’. Reyes is too busy being confused again by the orb floating around his head, and Genji standing beside him with concern. A curious hand prods out to the ball and its trail of light lingering near his head, but there’s no physical force to be poked. It’s warm to the touch, and infinitely calming. He wants to dislike it, and its power over him, but the thought is of no use until the thing would be removed from his presence. With a snap of fingers, Reyes looks to Genji instead, and then a pointed finger directs him back to the unfolding mech. The omnic approaches him when he proved to be unmovable in his confusion, and his neck cranes upwards when it stands before him. Another unfortunate side effect of this strange orb- he can’t seem to find himself afraid, either. 

“Well, aren’t you fancy.”

-Bweepbeep beep.-

“Get yourself a fucking vocal processor, hell. I didn’t learn binary back when it mattered, I’m not learning it now.”

“He isn’t compatible with any.” Zenyatta stands beside them, looking back and forth.

“Does he understand us?”

“Well enough. He gets better every day.”

Reyes squints from behind his lenses, raises a lip. “Bastion’s don’t /learn/.”

“He’s proven he does.”

“Then he’s probably not a Bastion.” He pokes the omnic with an accusing finger, “Some weird, elaborate fake. Whatever.” Before they can interject his train of thought, he looks the Bastion over. “Did they just… take your arm off? Not even replace it?” E-54’s would normally have a right arm that is completely machine gun, he recalls.

“For the sake of safety, he had to have it removed, and there are no ‘nerves’ there for a hand so.. why replace it, I suppose.”

-Bweepbweep- He nods, looking between the two, and to his stumped arm, as if he doesn’t mind at all.

With that thought out of the way, he can take to assaulting the orb lingering around his head, but it only takes two swipes before Zenyatta reaches up and pulls it from its anchor. “Apologies.”

It takes a good, hard, full body shake to get all the ‘gross’ off him before he settles back down, and now ‘clearer’ minded, regards the Bastion again. Reyes blinks behind his lenses, and then even reaches up to pull them to the tip of his nose, giving him the full gaze of his red eyes. “They’re gonna make you pull your weight like that. No weapon. Tsk”

Bastion doesn’t understand the implication, for Reyes is making a far back and obscure reference to something Winston had told him once. -Beep beep bweepbeepbeep…- Reyes is pleased at how, even without language, the omnic seems to understand social toning. It sounds like he’s saying ‘Well it’s not as simple as that’.

“Nah, I bet you still have your transformation cog.” Reyes snickers even, wondering how anyone could forget a E-54’s ability to transform into a full and literal tank.

His head sinks back into his neck at the thought, beeping a wheeze.

“Don’t let them think you’re just here for funsies, little guy.” Bastion makes a short ‘blep’ to being called ‘little’, but Reyes continues, “They’ll make you useful just like they made me useful.” With a shake of a finger, he sneers over to Reinhardt, and then Genji. He doesn’t know enough about the sibling Tekhartha to give him the same annoyance- but with that glowing orb bullshit, he’s walking on eggshells.

“Now Reaper-“ Genji tries to scold him, but there’s a hand over his face in an instant.

“Reyes.” He doesn’t know why, but he’s very, very picky about the name calling now.

“…Reyes. You agreed to the things you did.”

“I agreed because I was starving and desperate. Now that /that’s/ all over, you’ll be hard pressed to having me agree to do anything.” His gaze snaps back to Bastion, sticking the tip of his tongue out at him. “They’ll find out what you want and use you for it too.”

Reinhardt sighs deeply from behind, rolling his singular eye and slapping a hand over Reyes’ shoulder. “He’s just a little grumpy this morning, I think.”

“I’m grumpy every morning.”

-Bweep! Beep wheeeeeep.- With a goodhearted nature, the omnic nods, and then surprisingly, leans down, leveling his rectangle head with Reyes. He doesn’t appreciate the sudden closeness, wrinkling his nose, but doesn’t move when the omnic leans in further, and with the gentlest of motions, presses their faces together. He even manages to settle that constant wobbling that old E-54’s were known for so they don’t violently bash skulls together; leaning back, he waits for Reyes’ response to his robot smooch.

“… Did you teach that omnic to kiss people. He doesn’t even have a face.”

There’s an air of penetrating silence between the wait and the response- and when Reyes replies, Reinhardt breaks into uproarious laughter. “No! He wasn’t taught to do that, he just got in the habit of it himself.”

“Do you think that cheers people up.”

He nods, and looks to Reinhardt, who also nods.

“It cheered me up, back a couple days ago, when we picked him up.”

“I was wondering why you would ever give an old war omnic your time of day. I can’t believe you were swayed by a smooch like a foolhardy teenager.”

“I don’t know if you would remember this, my old friend, but I have always been a huge softy.”

“.. Yes. It’s a paradox. Giant armor and hammer dude,” Reyes poses with an invisible hammer for a moment, “heart of a damned baby.”, and shakes his head, laughing a quiet note.

“If I didn’t, I feel like I might’ve tried to kill you by now.” One big hand is still pressed into his shoulder, and it /squeezes/, reminding him that despite age, the larger man is still fully capable of bending him into a pretzel.

“I want to tell you ‘I can turn into smoke’ but I guess I can’t, can I.”

“Probably not.”

“Probably? You’re not sure.” Craning his neck backward, he gives him an accusing look.

“We haven’t gone over the state of your new imprisonment yet.”

With the word ‘imprison’, Reyes attention darts back to the omnic, “See, SEE. They play nice, until they need something from you…”

It takes a moment for the omnic to parse over his statement, but his remaining hand reaches out, and softly clinks against the collar on Reyes’ neck. Reyes makes a confused noise at him, before he reaches up to himself afterwards, and clinks against a completely unobscured neck of his own.

“… BAH!” Waving out with an arm, his force is nowhere near violent enough to hurt, but he whaps at the omnic in objection, and Bastion takes it in stride with a soft, beepy giggle. “They took off your arm!”

-Beep beep wheep!-

“He says he didn’t need it.” Zenyatta is happy to translate and laughs along at his dispute.

“Like hell you don’t need it! Everyone needs two arms.”

Standing up straight, Bastion shakes his head, ‘nope, nuh-uh’.

“You tell me anyone else who works with one arm- and no, one arm and one prosthetic doesn’t count, and maybe I’ll agree.”

\---

The conversation lingers on for a while there instead of returning to the kitchen, just to give Bastion some time at not being so lonely. Even if he might be allowed elsewhere in the complex, they’d find there’s many places the unwieldily omnic couldn’t fit. Honestly- Bastion is entirely fine with being down here, and is entirely fine with being alone, as he’d been for years. They all put in effort to try however, to normalize having the frightening omnic class in their care. While Reyes loses interest and Bastion is unable to respond, the other three speak of the last couple of days, the mission, what Zenyatta had been doing, and eventually, what Genji had been doing. He speaks of his brother, and Mccree… Reyes lifts his head from its sleepy stare on the floor. “Cigarettes.”

Reinhardt stops mid-sentence when he speaks, questioning. “Cigarettes…?”

“I asked Hana to ask you to get cigarettes.”

“… oh!.. And I actually did do this. She didn’t say they were for you. Why do you need…?”

“I need to see Jesse.” With a huff and no further explanation, he hefts himself forwards and jolts standing, prompting Reinhardt to simply follow.

“I’m not sure that is wise yet-“ Genji tries to interrupt, standing first along with Reyes, but the other man hisses at him.

“Tsss, what would you know. Listening to you all talk makes it very clear you /don’t/ know.”

He rolls his eyes, his whole head to get his point across, “You, you did not make anything any easier. Constantly, you-“

“No, you don’t understand. Whatever- I’ll just damned /show you/.” Once again, with a waving hand, he beckons Reinhardt to rise, and with a groan and an audible crack of joints, he joins them all in standing.

Bastion bweeps a response to Zenyatta, and the monk stands, nodding and laughing softly. He is wordless, but is obviously coming along with them.

Jesse is still at the medbay. Angela complains to them about bringing Reyes along, but with the cowboy without gun and arm, and mildly sedated… First, as a trade-off, she forces the ghost to let her poke and prod him a minute.

“You say you can’t take in much light?” With glasses removed and under the very scrutinizing bright white of the medbay, his eyes are /watering/ in distress. She watches the completely contracted pupils like tiny dots in the red of his iris desperate to shut off the light, and after long seconds, lets him put his glasses back on. For the rough treatment, she receives a rumble, but is unaffected by his barking. Instead, she beckons a mouth open, and inspects the sharp teeth beneath. “-Shit-, your teeth are disgusting.. but, not falling out of your head, so that’s good. Just dirty.”

“Can’t say brushing and flossing has been high on the list.”

“I’m impressed the ones that are sticking out of the side here are doing just as well as any other.” From his closed mouth, she watches him grind the molars beneath her finger. “I bet that made eating harder.”

“I just chew on the other side. And catch the drool with a towel. Or a blanket.” He vaguely remembers having to be sneaky about the holes existence last night in front of Hana’s livestream. No one questioned how he held the pillow on his face constantly.

“I’ll see if I can’t figure out a bandage or something we can place there.. Or even better, if I could convince the hole to close.”

“Heh, don’t hold your breath on that one.” Finally fed up with her poking, he whaps at her hands, lowering it away from his face, and gestures at Reinhardt. “Alright, I’m done. Give me the cigs.”

Startled, Angela looks between the two of them with confusion, but Reinhardt has no answer. He simply shrugs and tosses them to Reyes, whom then brushes past them, and through the doors to the medical proper.

Mccree was sitting up in his bed, half naked with all the parts of his midsection’s augmentation set around the table beside him. He’s reading a book- and completely unexpectant to anyone appearing other than Dr. Ziegler, doesn’t look up. Hanzo, in a chair beside him, however, it too astute to let a visitor go unnoticed. When he doesn’t recognize the dark-skinned man, he rises to stop him, but the motion has Jesse looking up. Despite the hair, and the scars, and the.. everything, the recognition is instantaneous. He froths at his approach, but unable to stand, yells an angered note at him.

Jesse has more things to say but he’s interrupted by a plastic covered cardboard box whipping him in the face.

“YOU! You always turn into a fucking psychopath when you try to stop fucking smoking!” The suddenness and the sharpness of his accusation leaves all else stunned in silence.

“.. I-… What-…Ff…” With the box in hand, Jesse just stares at him, incredulous- before Angela is beside him, giving Jesse a look that could kill a man.

“…. You quit smoking.”

“No, he didn’t, he NEVER QUIT. And he never stopped, even back in Blackwatch, always stealing drags behind your back.”

It’s back to Mccree now to defend himself, but he has nearly nothing. “It’s not like that! I stopped when I got here-“

“You stopped COLD TURKEY, AGAIN.”

“I did not! I ain’t have many left, and I ain’t the man to go beggin’ so I just. Weeded them down all slow like.”

“Apparently not good enough. Fucking- take a prescription or something, for god’s sake. You shot me in the face!”

“HEY, maybe you were askin’ to get shot in the face!”

They’re face to face now, barking at each other an inch away- but Reyes drops a lighter in his lap, and he grabs it like a hawk. Angela wants to complain, but Hanzo stands, still terrified of her to block her way. Just give it a shot. We can get him to quit for real /later/.

“No!” Reyes whaps him about the top of the head with an open palm, “Nobody asks to get shot in the face!”

With a scoff, Mccree shoves away his hand, and for good measure, kicks him in the stomach from his bed sit. “What’re you complainin’ for you, look at you! Looks like I up and did you a favour.” With his remaining flesh hand, he reaches up to give Reyes a pat to the face.

He nearly bites off his fingers for his efforts, but Mccree is too quick on the draw. “You know what? Sure. We’re gonna walk right past this, not look back, and-…” He stops his sentence, looking down at the disrepair of Mccree’s midsection, and then back to his face. “Did I do that?”

“…” Mccree looks down on himself, and back up to him, staring incredulously. “You don’t… Remember?”

Reinhardt perks up from behind, “If you have to ask, assume he does not.”

“…That’s stupid.”

“Thems the breaks, kid.”

“Fine. Yeah, you kinda did. Near the end of the Blackwatch days, when you started goin’ squirrely, you’d gotten me and Genji on a bad part of town. Got myself half blown to shit by omnics. S’when Genji left Blackwatch, too. You didn’t even give a shit.”

Staring off to the side for a moment he thinks about it… And, after all of today’s fun self-exploration, it’s excessively frustrating when he comes up with nothing. Again, he flexes out his claws, blackened at the tips and sharp. Before he gets too caught in himself, Mccree gives him another solid kick to the middle, and he snaps back. “I can’t remember.”

“Don’t worry about it. S’in the past, ain’t it.”

“.. For now.”


	16. ch 16(sand)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hello mom how are you i'm fine yes i've been changing my underwear yes i've been eating 3 meals a day mom please

Jack said, if they ‘fixed’ his problem, and he still didn’t remember, that he would tell Reyes about all the thing he had forgotten. In his absence, however, he could do no such thing. Between the remaining Overwatch members, however, he’s getting a bit more of a filled picture- but one question that Jack had proposed still lingers in his mind. ‘Why did you start hating me?’

There are a couple good guesses he scrapes up from Reinhardt and Mccree. Mccree thinks it’s a laying of the last few years of Overwatch- tensions between their two methods, Blackwatch’s growing limelight, and other tensions broke the two ‘noteably affectionate’ men apart. Reinhardt, however, thinks that it’s hard to believe the two, whom had been friends since the beginning of the war, would separate over such, in his words, ‘trivial means’. To be completely honest with himself, Jesse sort of agrees with the sentiment. They were ‘best buddies’, many said.

“I just don’t know. You’d have to know Gabriel outside of work, I guess, and nobody except Morrison and Ana really knew. I knew, sort of, but, Reyes, you were a secluded dude.” Mccree is lounged on a couch in the common area; he shares it with Reyes and Hana. Across from them is Fareeha, Angela and Reinhardt; and on the floor, Lucio is working on music on his laptop, one headphone off and listening. It’s been a week and some since Reyes’ newfound form, and his brain has done little to no repairing of his memories. If anything- he feels even more disjointed than he did before. However, if given the choice again, he would gladly trade his memories for the comfort of a solid body. Maybe with less traumatizing bodily disfunction first.

Fareeha sighs at the thought. “You know, I almost wonder if was something related to my mother’s death.” Reinhardt nods, he’d been thinking that, for absolute sure.

A legitimate thought piques his interest, and Reyes rises to it, head tilting, “How did that happen again?” They’re all getting used to calmly informing Gabriel of his missing information, no matter how unlikely it seems he would forget. He feels as if he hasn’t exactly forgotten- remembers a keen sense of distress about the matter- but not much else on details.

“On a mission, she was separated from her crew, and was declared MIA.”

“They never found her?” That seems suspicious and unlikely.

“No.”

Reyes shakes his head idly, just to stretch, “That seems fishy.”

“It was. But it was near the absolute end of Overwatch’s term, and there were no resources to pursue it. Maybe less than a month later, the Swiss explosion occurred.”

“Ah, well, that works,” he raises a hand to shrug wildly at the open air in his irritation, closing his eyes to try to recall. God, it was like Ana had been scrubbed from his memory entirely. According to Mccree, Ana was nearly as close to him and Jack was. After a moment, he mumbles, “I’m sorry I don’t remember your mother, Fareeha.”

She sighs to that, staring down at her feet. “I can’t blame you for that. No one can.”

“If it is how it looks, I think I’m a little to blame for my own demise,” he’s still mumbling, patting his lap. It really sounds like the fall of Overwatch might’ve started because Reyes had fucked some things up. From what he hears, they were all certain before that he had a primary hand in blowing up the Swiss Headquarters. And at this moment, he doesn’t even remember the explosion. He knows that’s where he ‘died’, but not when or why he didn’t manage to remain dead.

“Perhaps. There had been known reports of Talon intermingling in our ranks. If you’d been taken advantage of, I suppose, it happened and is in the past now.” Fareeha shrugs, and Angela acknowledges the thought with a nod and a hum. It’s in the past now. For now, whatever weird torture Reyes had sustained for the past few years makes up some of the troubling actions he may or may not have taken in his past.

Reyes sighs the deepest and groaniest sigh he’s sighed in a long while, sinking into the couch. Glancing over to Hana, he catches her staring at him, half-lidded and listening; she raises an eyebrow when they lock gazes, pressing a hand to her chest. “You appreciating how fucked up Overwatch was and still is?”

“I mean, the Korean army had its share of weird shit but, yeah, this is pretty… Complicated.” And understatement, she squints her eyes at ‘complicated’, and wrinkles her nose.

He smirks, “You’re holding on very well for someone who’s terribly out of the loop.”

“I’ve caught on pretty good! There are some names I don’t have faces for, but all in all, it comes together.” For emphasis, she brings her hands together, tapping each finger together, before interweaving them.

“From an outside perspective, what do you think then, Hana.”

“What do I think about what part, man.”

“Why do you think I started hating Jack?”

“Number one, I don’t think you do.” He rolls his eyes, scoffing.

“I beg to differ, but-“

“Ah ah ah, just wait. To me, if it sounded so out of character for Reyes to go completely off the deep end, and that you already know Talon was in the ranks, then it really sounds like someone might’ve been personally fucking with you. It would make sense- take one of the high ranking officials, and mentally toy with then until they break.”

Reyes scoffs, wrinkling his nose, “I refuse to accept that I was the weakest mental link in our little group.”

“You might not have been- but you just might’ve been accessible.”

Angela palms her chin, expression shifting to an ‘oh yeah’. Hana looks her over, gesturing with an open palm for her to speak up. “Erm, it’s just someone I was thinking of… That probably didn’t…help.”

Everyone gives her some solid blinks, though Mccree chuckles. “Yeah, probably.”

Hana wildly shifts her gaze between them, and then settles on Reyes. He shrugs, doesn’t know who they’re talking about. “It doesn’t really matter now.”

 It kinda sounds like Angela is sticking her neck out for whoever this is and doesn’t mention the name; Mccree wants to chuff and speak it, but when he and Angela lock eyes, her face softly requesting, he keeps it shut down. Hana really wants to know, but Reyes shifts the subject back, “Doesn’t matter now, no, whoever they’re not here; you were going somewhere with that, Hana.”

“Ahm, oh yeah, so… Yeah- so it’s maybe not that you explicitly hated Jack, but that someone else did, and used you to that end. I also think that Ana’s disappearance was absolutely involved. You said a lot before- you were ‘left behind’, and that might’ve been true, at the Swiss Headquarters, you might’ve thought you were left behind. But you told me, Jack said you were mad about something related to that. You think maybe you were mad about Ana instead?”

He raises an eyebrow, “Why would Talon change that to me instead, then? Why not just keep the remorse on Ana?”

“Not sure about that one. Probably related to how they scrubbed her from your memory entirely. Less numbers to get in the way?”

Nose crinkling, he pushes up his sunglasses in distaste, “Fucking bastards.” Quietly, in the back of his mind, he forces any memories of her to show themselves. It’s fruitless- or so he thinks; after a moment or two, he simply receives feelings of affection and then, heart sinking loss from his subconscious. The fading of his expression leaves Hana just as disconcerted looking, but he opens his eyes and spots her, and shrugs it off. “I guess we’ll leave it at that. Honestly, that’s an extremely feasible story.”

She smirks, sticking out her tongue, “I’m right about most things.”

Huffing from the side, Mccree gives Reyes a playful shove, “Why’dja bring us all here if you were just going to listen to a stranger?”

“Hey- I needed you all to gather information for me- and she isn’t a stranger,” he barks back, snarking at him.

Completely unrelated, Lucio speaks up to break up the ensuing argument before it starts. “If I held a concert on the beach, would y’all like to come.”

There’s a reigning silence for a minute before Hana speaks up, “Uh, a hell yeah I would.”

With his chin in his palms, he looks up to everyone else. Fareeha blinks, and questions, “Are you… allowed to?”

“I asked Winston a couple days ago, and he said he’d see if it was ok, and I wasn’t sure he actually would, but he did, and he says I can if I can give exact dates and stuff. I guess there are enough people in Gibraltar who like me.”

More blinking, and thinking, Angela speaks, “That would… likely be a morale boost.” After the whole trouble with Reyes, with Morrison escaping, and with a general lack of productivity since, there has been a slight lull in their all emotive states.

And, if Winston seems to think he can pull it off.

\-----

It’s really nice out today. Maybe too nice. It’s hot. Reyes can sweat again, and it’s hot, and sticky, and awful. On the plus side, he can also drink fluids again. Cold, sugary, carbonated fluids. Not everyone has decided to go out on an adventure today, but there’s a solid group of them. Winston’s relationship with the Gibraltar people and official’s has been severely underestimated; and he reminds them that he’s lived there for /years/, has been outside /often/ to get food and just to, y’know, exist. Did they really think he’s just been holed up in the Watchpoint, completely stewing in his solitude? Oh no no, not this sociable primate.

They’ve split off into a couple groups- Lucio and Hana peel off to do ‘young kid’ things before he has to finish setting up on the beach for his show, and, to everyone’s surprise but Lucio’s himself, Satya comes along with them. While Reyes and Mccree have been getting along since the three weeks now of their fight, he’s apparently still a wanted man; and instead, Reinhardt and Hanzo keep Reyes company. Winston is off with Lena, Zenyatta and Genji- and Emily, who’s come down for the fun times and to visit her girlfriend for once in a blue moon. Emily is also very interested in talking with Zenyatta, who is more than happy to oblige her. Fareeha and Angela wander off to have some time alone, and, unwilling to be in a crowd, Mei and Bastion are watching the base with Athena and Mccree.

Though many in this area are perfectly used to Winston hanging around, they’re more leery to let the wraith linger- but on his best behavior, he doesn’t even think to snap at any stares or snark he might come across, and his more unappealing facial scars are hidden behind a face mask,  bandages and the sunglasses that haven’t left his face since Lucio put them there. He’s far to occupied finding things to eat and drink(the imagery of him sneaking straws and bites under his mask make Reinhardt laugh absolutely every time), people to stare at, and life to generally enjoy, relaxing. Happy to let him wander and occupy himself, Reinhardt is elated with how pleased Reyes seems to be with his freedom. It’s only to the credit of his currently spongey brain, or the way he disassociates, that he’s so content to just exist.

It takes a few hours, but he finally tapers down his energy enough that they sit, enjoying the sun, and might wait out the day until the night when the concert is. Reyes isn’t even completely sure he wants to go, but might try anyways. “Depends on if you guys are going.”

“I like Lucio’s music quite a bit! Maybe not exactly my favourite, but it’s good!” Reinhardt is absolutely going. He is not the expected demographic, but Lucio has been such a good friend since they’ve met, he can’t say no.

Hanzo shrugs, hiding from the sun under a stolen Mccree hat. “I doubt I will enjoy myself.”

Giving him a playful shove, “You won’t know till you try, friend.”

An eye peers out from his brim to give Reinhardt a stink eye, but it in ineffective. “I will keep you company as long as I can mentally afford. Besides; my brother said he wanted to go, and has also given me the guilt trip, so.”

“Attacked from all sides,” Reyes laughs hoarsely, “I guess I will not enjoy myself with you.”

“Do not feel obligated to.” Gabriel wonders if Hanzo is still mad at him for that time in Rio, but doesn’t have it in him to ask. They haven’t had a singular conversation between them since then, and Hanzo can’t stop thinking about the time Reyes ate a man’s fingers. It does help, however, when Mccree stops acting so hostile towards him.

Shrugging, “Well, I’m sure there’s someone else who can not enjoy it with me if you go off.” He wishes a bit that Jesse could have come along, or that Genji had come along with his brother. Without people he’s familiar with, Hanzo gets cagey. Not as much as Reyes would’ve thought, however, and wonders if there’s some familiarity between him and Reinhardt. If he wasn’t so spongey, he’d take more than a moment to notice that Hanzo hadn’t shied away from that shove earlier.

“Or you could actually enjoy it! This is an option,” Reinhardt breaks into the conversation again, leaning back with his drink. The chair beneath him creaks woefully. “You used to like music, Reyes.”

“Hmn, did I now? What kind of music. Lucio kind of music?” He is legitimately interested, tilting a head up to face Reinhardt as he leans.

“MMmnnn, no, probably not. You often listened to slow, soft music. Well, most of the time. Sometimes you listened to music made long before the war, before I was even born, I’m fairly sure. I don’t know what the bands where called, unfortunately. Guitars and angry lyrics”

“Hmr. Maybe Jack would know,” he muses, closing his eyes and sighing.

“I bet if I described it to Lucio, he would know. He found a load of music I used to listen to when I was a small child. His brain is a hard drive of knowledge.”

“He would’ve been nice to have back in the old Overwatch days.”

“He still could be, you know.”

“You can all keep pretending we’ll be a real Overwatch one day, but I’m still not convinced. This, all, however,” he snaps up to gesture wildly, startling Hanzo, “This can stay. Just us, hanging out and being us. It’s a lot less stressful on the heart.”

“Come back at me in a couple months, and tell me again what you’ve said here. Tell me later that you’re still good with being retired.” Reinhardt laughs, mocking his own judgment.

“I will, y’know, and I’ll probably be like, ‘ha ha Reinhardt, you were right, I’m bored and I want to shoot things again,” Reyes laughs too, lower, and then abruptly stands, “I already can’t sit here anymore.”

Groaning, Reinhardt doesn’t want to stand yet, but before he can complain, Hanzo rises and flattens a palm against Reinhardt’s shoulder, “Stay here, I will take him for a walk.”

“Oh, danke, but you don’t have to,-“ he moves to stand, but Hanzo insists he stay sat.

“You can catch up with us later, or we will return here when he becomes bored again. It’s no trouble to me.”

Reyes doesn’t care either way, but also, “Do I really need an escort to do everything?”

Hanzo nods. “According to Winston, yes, actually.”

Brows furrowing, he frowns a big, exaggerated frown from beneath his mask; its worn in his eyes and the bridge of his nose. “Yeah those are the /official/ rules, but-“

Shaking his head, Hanzo bridges the gap between them, and shoves him along, “You could go home, and keep Mccree company, if you’d like.”

“No..! Ok, fine, you can come with. Stay here, old man! We’ll be back…”

Hanzo is less adept at keeping Gabriel occupied, but manages. A few times, he stops, peers into the air, sniffing and looking around. After the first few times, Gabriel stops and snaps back at Hanzo, eyes squinting from behind his glasses. He ducks into an alleyway, beckoning Hanzo to follow.

“Hanzo.”

“….what.”

“Does it feel like we’re being watched.”

Silence reigns for a few moments and Hanzo /frowns/, “.. You want my honest opinion?”

“… Yes??” Gabriel sneers, raising an eyebrow.

“I feel like we have been watched all day. I thought I was being paranoid.”

For a long moment, Reyes stares at him, incredulous. “…Hanzo, we’re all wanted fugitives, and you thought you wouldn’t mention that you, the archer, ninja, felt watched.” Reyes is really looking around now- the feeling for himself was completely recent; if someone has been watching them all day, that far more nerve-wracking.

“I-…” he stammers, “I didn’t want to ruin the mood if I was simply being irrational. A woman has been following us.”

Reyes snaps back at him, “A blue woman?”

… Hanzo raises an eyebrow, shakes his head. “No, not a blue woman. I would tell you if it was Widowmaker.”

“Oh that’s right, you know her. Describe the woman you’ve been seeing.”

“Darker skinned, wearing a head scarf. I don’t know, really, I haven’t gotten a good look at her face.” Hanzo shrugs again; he hadn’t been committing it to memory. To his lack of credit, he didn’t think he was seeing the same woman over again, but multiple women who were just similar.

That doesn’t ring any bells in Gabriel’s head. Which is completely unsurprising knowing his current state of mind. “… Maybe just a fan? Is it someone who is maybe after you.”

“Perhaps? I am also wanted- but not generally anywhere beyond Asia. Then again, somewhat recently, me and my brother had a fight on our homeland. It accidentally raised some flags, but I did not think it would go this far. It hadn’t before.” Oh, Hanzo is nervous now, and messaging his brother immediately.

“Alright, calm down. If it was that bad, they’d come down by now. We’ve been alone here for a while now.” The alley is quiet and vacant, is what he means. A good place to try and murder someone.

Hanzo isn’t interested in being calm, he’s interested in being alive. “We should return to Reinhardt.”

“Now just wait a minute. I don’t want to get him all wound up.” Reyes gives him a few pats, and leans around a corner as they start walking again, somewhat towards back where they’d left the big man.

“I already sent my brother a message, and he says he’ll meet us in the meantime.”

“Pssh, I doubt we can’t handle this ourselves.” Reyes might feel watched, but he doesn’t feel threatened. Even when he turns the corner, and sees the woman standing there at the end of the alleyway, hands on her hip. Hanzo bumps into the back of him when he stops abruptly, and then shocks when he looks forwards and sees her there. In a silent standoff, they stare, until sheepishly, Gabriel waves a tiny, close to his head wave. When he gives that ‘welcoming’ signal, she shrugs, and bridges the gap between them.

“I am not after you, man who is not Gabriel, so you can cool your jets,” her voice is tilted with accent, one he recognizes in Fareeha, but thicker.

“…Fair, but I can’t say I approve of your chasing us regardless,” Hanzo replies, tersely; without much thought, he puts himself between her and Reyes. As much as he appreciates the thought, Gabriel balks at the intrusion, sneering at the other man, but not doing much to stop the selfless act.

Ana Amari is somewhat amused, and as an act of good will, does not push to move him out of the way- she stops a foot before him, and folds her arms. “That may be true, but I didn’t think it wise either to simply walk up. Here you are now, Gabriel, and still, you look at me like a stranger. I can’t believe.”

When she mentions she might be familiar, Gabriel squints, and slowly peers over Hanzo to look her up and down. On her face, under her eye- she has a mark, like Fareeha. Oh. “I know who you are- but don’t give me credit for that yet. I only realized it because of your daughter.”

“I look like her? I would hope so.”

“Not just that. The tattoo on your face.”

Hanzo blinks, and peers back to Reyes incredulously. “I do not understand.”

Placing a hand on his shoulder, Gabriel /laughs/, “No one is dead! No one is ever dead. I knew when they said you were only MIA that you weren’t dead, my god. Wait- we were just talking about you, what kind of coincidence is this.”

She’s laughing now too, and Hanzo remains out of the loop. Shuffling out from behind, Gabriel slinks up right in front of her, looking down at the accidental stranger. She speaks up at him, “You only know me because of what you’ve heard, and not because of yourself.” Her voice is coated in disbelief, but she doesn’t think he’s lying.

He’s staring at her, blinking and doesn’t reply. It’s taking a while, but in her face, perhaps… Gently, she pushes Hanzo to the side, and hands raise up, cupping under Reyes’ jaw. Her palms are rough from age and from work, but he enjoys the simple sensation of it rubbing under his chin, at his neck, under his ears. Rumbling softly, his eyes close, and he thinks. Without questioning the thought, he mumbles, “He did leave you behind.”

“Hmn? Who did.”

“Jack.”

She doesn’t reply immediately, thinking over in her head what he means, “I don’t know if I would agree with that.”

“He did. I know he did,” his words become harsh, biting, and Ana catches first hand what her daughter had spoken about over the phone- Reyes' eyes grow dark, each tip of his fingers growing dark and jagged, smoking in irritation. Beneath his mask and out of a strange instinct, he licks a tongue over his teeth which remain unseen- and she’s somewhat grateful for it. “He left me too.”

“Is that right?” It’s disturbing, but she plays extremely cool. Hanzo is to the side of them now, watching nervously. “I don’t think it’s like that.”

“You wouldn’t know, you weren’t there.”

“I told him to leave, you know.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter to respect my decision?”

“Why did you.”

“The mission was compromised, they could not afford it.”

“We couldn’t afford to lose you.”

“I know that now, to be completely not humble of me to say.” She’s still rubbing his face, gently, and his strangely ghoulish outburst fades. “Though honestly, we were all going down the drain anyways.”

His voice is still weak and sad, however, “Why are you here.”

“Fareeha begged me too.”

“You hate us all so much.” He doesn’t mean to sound so harsh- but his eyes open up again, and she slowly recoils her hands, sighing.

“I don’t hate anyone. I didn’t think it would be worth letting you all know that I was alive after the fall had already occurred in my absence.”

Half-lidded, he raises his own hands to gently grip at her face back, and she doesn’t recoil. “I beg to differ. It would’ve been nice to know.”

“From what Fareeha had told me, it sounds like you wouldn’t have cared in the end anyways.”

“I care right now.”

“And! Now is when I have come back to see you.”

“Are you just leaving it at that.”

“Mn?”

“Are you just showing up like a ghost for me, or will you go see everyone else as well.”

“I mean, Fareeha already knows.”

“Reinhardt would like to know.”

Her gaze peels off to the side nervously, frowning, “Ah- I do not know if I agree with that.”

“Trust me.”

“I don’t.”

Like a bat out of hell, Genji swoops down from a rooftop, sword slipped between Ana and Gabriel; it presses up against her throat in one solid motion. “Back, you- oohaaw…wh….wha?” Before she even has time to react to the assault, he falters, and she can only fumble backward a bit, recoiling her head into her neck. Her expression is one more of a disapproving mother than someone who was being threatened with a sword, and slowly, she raises a hand to move the blade away from her person

“-Excuse me, child-, I can’t believe you still stab first, and ask questions later.”

Reyes replies, only slightly surprised by the interjection, as Genji is too busy looking at her incredulously, having recognized her immediately, “To his credit, he did not actually stab you.”

“Completely fair. Shimada, please, wipe that look off your face.” Genji’s wearing his mask, but his expression is worn plainly in his posture. “Er, not you, other Shimada.” She waves a dismissive hand to Hanzo, whom looks so very, very confused still, but more comfortable now that his brother was here. Moments later, Zenyatta taps around the corner, pretending to huff because he doesn’t actually need to breath, having barely caught up with Genji.

“Cats outta the bag now!” Reyes exclaims, raising both arms in the air.

“Apparently! Genji, put your sword away, you are not stabbing me today.”

“You shouldn’t be stabbing anyone at any time, Genji, we’ve been over this before!” Zenyatta laughs while he approaches them. Somewhat embarrassed, he sheaths his sword, and offers Ana a nod of apology despite still being concerned about the woman’s existence. When Zenyatta reaches close enough, he offers Ana a hand, “Hello, mysterious woman who is making my student very nervous for some reason. I’m sorry he attempted to stab you.”

Appreciating the sudden formality, she takes his hand and returns the handshake firmly, “Ah, it is well, he probably thought I was trying to murder his friend and brother.”

“I see that you have not, and I thank you for this.” Zenyatta is a humoured man who is very good at going with the flow. “I want to ask you who you are, but it would be rude not to tell you first that I am Zenyatta.”

“I knew that, actually. I am Ana Amari.”

“That is a familiar name. A name of a dead woman, correct me if I’m wrong. No wonder my student is rendered speechless. You think after the third time of this happening, he would have learned.”

“Third? I am late to the party. All we need now is to invite Gerard and we’re set.”

Reyes perks again, “I remember that name… Oh- wait, Why do you know Gerard?” Reyes knows Gerard because of Widowmaker. She would often lament his passing. Her husband that she had killed under Talon orders.

“He was in Overwatch…? You do not remember Gerard Lacroix?”

Hanzo breaks in, “If you have to ask, assume that no, he does not remember.”

Ana squints, leaning in towards Reyes with hands on her hips. “What Gerard do you know of?”

“Gerard Lacroix. Deceased husband of Amelie Lacroix- or, Widowmaker.”

Ana’s face scrunches at the mention of this woman, and she scoffs, swiping her hand in front of her in sudden annoyance, “And why would you know of her like this, but not of me, or of Gerard in Overwatch?”

Reyes is taken aback a bit by the sudden mood shift, lips pursing, “We’re good friends, actually.”

This leaves Ana disgusted looking. “How? I was going to wait to tell you this, but now I must. Widowmaker- Amelie, she is the one who had killed me.”

Reyes frowns. “Would you believe me if I said she didn’t mean it?”

“I have seen her work plainly, Reyes. There is no way that she just- didn’t mean to shoot me, or anyone she shoots. She boasts about it- claims it makes her feel. She is a monster, Reyes.”

“So was I, like, a month ago. You would live to be surprised.” Ashamed, he stares off to the side, and sighs, forlorn. Since the last time they’d seen her, nearly a month now, Winston claims Talon has been very much hard to get ahold of. At least though, he was still trying to get in contact with Amelie.

\----

“I didn’t think you would actually come.”

“And why not?” Ana tries not to sound cross about it- she knows where her daughter is coming from.

“You seem very content in your retirement. If not the rise of Overwatch, what else would have you?”

It’s hard to talk over the music and cheering, but they’re crowded up at the back of the beach venue, ‘not’ enjoying it. Reinhardt is nearby with Hanzo- Reinhardt /cried/ when he saw Ana, exclaiming loudly at Reyes how truly, no one was really dead, and he wasn’t even the oldest anymore. Reyes is tapping his feet but is mostly occupied with Ana and Fareeha’s conversation.

“You sounded very concerned, so I came. And when you mentioned Jack, and Gabriel… It would be impossible to say no. I am sorry to have missed Jack.”

“Oh, he’ll be back.” Reyes mumbles- or tries too, he still has to be loud enough to be heard over the music.

“You think so much so?”

“I know so.” He doesn’t know why he knows so, but he does.

“Oh, so you’ll come for your two lost boys, but not for your own daughter.”

Ana scoffs, shoving her ‘ungrateful’ child, and she laughs. “I’ve come for you enough times! It is not easy for me to simple surface, you would know. I came when you were in the hospital.”

“… You did? I do not recall this.”

“You might’ve still been very medicated.”

Fareeha looks down to her metal legs, tapping the feet together idly. She’s wearing shoes, and under pants; you’d never know they weren’t real below the knee. “I thought I’d hallucinated. It seemed too unlikely.”

Leaning forwards from his reclined sit, Reyes questions, “What did you do, anyways?”

“Hmn? We were testing a prototype flight suit, when the engines stuttered. There were supposed to be failsafes to stop me from falling, but instead, when I hit the ground, the jet boots exploded.” Reyes expression sours to that story so much the mask crinkles into his eyes, and he waves a hand in pity.

“It was hard to sneak into a hospital, but in the end, I ended up telling a nurse I was your mother, and then let me go for it. Apparently, you were not informed of my visit afterward.”

“Not a word. At the time, it was probably better that way. I was younger- I would’ve just been mad at you.”

It’s nice, Reyes thinks, to simply watch the two fondly regard their relationship. Though he recalls none of the details, as he has tended to be recently, he feels in his heart having watched that bond grow over the years. He supposes that’s why Fareeha had asked her mother to show up at all. It’s both comforting and really not to think she claims to have put in a significant effort to make it here.


End file.
